A Time for Games and Shadows
by Scarlett J. Abner
Summary: The Tournament ended in tragedy. The magical world is left spinning in a new direction as people are faced with truths they'd rather not know. Events more than a decade in the making are being set in motion and Harry is to be found tangled in the middle of it all. With threats coming at him from all sides and an enemy as elusive as smoke, what will he do? [#2 in series]
1. Chapter 1

Snape sucked in a breath of air through bloody teeth, his face a hair's breadth from the ground, eyes squeezed shut so tight that he couldn't hope to see the cloud of white bridging the distance with each puff of warm air from his lungs.

"Rise, Severus."

Snape obeyed. His legs shook dangerously when he pushed himself off the ground, tripping on his long robe and prompting mad cackles from the Death Eaters gathered in a circle around him. They were enjoying his misery, the spectacle he was making.

 _Fools. They'll be next soon enough…_

"Severus, do you understand now why you are being punished?" Lord Voldemort sat on a high-backed chair, his hands resting delicately on the armrests, right one holding his wand, while his feet were firmly planted on the ground amidst the skulls and bones of small animals, gifts from his new pet: Nagini.

"Yes, my Lord." Snape winced as his voice came out cracked and abused.

Voldemort hummed. His Death Eaters held their breaths.

"Thirteen years I was subjected to the existence of a mere parasite, forced to hang on to the lives of simple beings in order to save my own…but I survived. And I listened. I heard about the wizarding world, what had become of the filthy ministry, what had become of my _faithful_ followers," the lengthy pause that followed had even the strongest of the Death Eaters trembling in their boots. "They rot in Azkaban for their commitment… their loyalty… their bravery… their Lord.

"What's left to greet me upon my return, then?" Voldemort rose from his throne and several Death Eaters stumbled back in fright, only to catch themselves too late. "I see cowards before me. Weak, pathetic deserters who would rather let their comrades be wrongfully imprisoned for following their Master's orders than face Azkaban themselves. I think to myself now, perhaps that is the problem: my Death Eaters fear dementors, the Ministry and Azkaban more than they fear me."

A scream was wrenched through the air. The Death Eaters turned their fearful gazes to Snape but when they saw that he was unharmed, they started searching amongst themselves, until they arrived to the back of the room.

"And I decided that if I were to rectify that, then I would have to take immediate action."

Maverick, a forty-something year-old pureblood, was scooting away from Nagini the way crabs do, hands and feet working together to move him away from the snake, ass dragging on the floor and dirtying his robes. The man was terrified and Snape noted that he already had a bite on his cheek—two round dots carved into his skin that would've been harmless if it weren't for the poison now coursing its way through his veins.

Nagini surged forward and bit the man's ankle, provoking another scream which ended in pleas to Voldemort. Snape watched as Voldemort took in the other wizard's pained cries without a flinch. Their master's red eyes glinted dangerously in the chamber they were all assembled in and Snape could identify the lustful, bloodthirsty flame burning inside the powerful wizard.

They were done playing games. Nagini had bit the man up his legs, her venom violently introduced into his system in quantities that would have him dead within minutes.

But Snape should've known it wouldn't be that easy.

Voldemort drew his wand and some of the Death Eaters in the room drew in relieved sighs, only to choke on them when the spell which hit the snake rippled across her skin and made her grow longer, thicker, stronger. Her body was now as wide as the length of a grown man's shoulders and thrice as long as an average person was tall. She was a beast and she was coming for Maverick.

Nobody moved a muscle when the snake began to coil herself around the wizard. Nobody let out a single sound as the _crick-crick-crack-crunch_ of broken bones and punctured skin began to fill the room. Not a single person dared to remove their gaze from the horrific sight before them for fear that they would be next. As the snake finished breaking Maverick's body (the man long since dead), it unwound herself from him, her skin brushing against his clothes in a gentle, scraping caress, and began by his feet. She opened her jaw wide and swallowed him inch by inch.

Snape heard sputtering and hacking coming from somewhere in the room, but didn't turn to look.

Nagini closed her mouth around Maverick's mutilated head and snaked her forked tongue out to lick across the seam of her lips whilst emitting a satisfied hiss. The animal then coiled itself into a spiral on the ground and rested her head along the length of her body, awaiting her master's next command.

"Very well put, my pet," Voldemort purred and returned to his makeshift throne. "Dimitri, come, switch places with Severus. Let us have a real show this time."

The man in question stumbled to his knees at Voldemort's feet and with a savage jab of his master's wand the nails on his left hand were pulled out by an invisible force one by one.

Voldemort smiled cruelly as his followers screamed at his feet once more.

July 15th, 1995

 **Mistakes of the Past? Or Folly of the Present?**

Harry James Potter, born July 31st 1980, known to many as the vanquisher of first class terrorist 'You-Know-Who' has recently been involved in one of the most shocking and peculiar incidents to have hit our wizarding community since the terrible trials at the dawn of the Second War.

Last year, Mr Potter took part in the Triwizard Tournament as the youngest and only fourth member in the history of the inter-school event. The Triwizard Tournament consists of three tasks set forth by appointed judges and had recently been reinstated by the Ministry of Magic after an extensive revision of the tournament's rulebook to prevent the repetition of the numerous deadly incidents in the past.

In spite of these rigorous measures, Mr Potter succeeded in eluding the tournament's strict underage limit and rose to second place in favour of renowned Quidditch player Viktor Krum (Durmstrang Institute) and stunning beauty, Fleur Delacour (Beauxbatons Academy). However, upon completion of the last task, Mr Potter arrived at Hogwarts clutching the dead body of Cedric Diggory, fellow Hogwarts champion and first place candidate, and an unconscious individual later rumoured to be none other than Peter Pettigrew.

Since this event two weeks ago, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE) has reportedly been exhausting its resources attempting to unravel this mind-gripping mystery. In a brief interview with Auror Olsen O'Donnell, he had the following to say on the matter, "After a series of long and thorough interviews with the suspect and a careful analysis of his person, we have been able to positively confirm that yes, the man is indeed Peter Pettigrew. His mere existence, however, provides us with more questions than answers, which is why Madame Bones [Head of the DMLE] has agreed to the reopening of case JK/54786 in which Pettigrew's death had been instrumental to the prosecution of escaped convict Sirius Orion Black in his involvement in the deaths of James Potter and Lily Evans Potter, alongside twelve Muggles. As for [the death of] Cedric Diggory, we have confirmed that it was not at Pettigrew's hand and we [the DMLE] will continue to investigate it further."

This announcement from the Ministry has provoked a strong response in the public wherein many have begun to question the Ministry's methods and capabilities. Mr Lucius Malfoy, head of the Malfoy family, however, has declared the following, "It is only thanks to the Ministry of Magic's speedy response and sound judgement that I was saved from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's hold thirteen years ago. I have built a life now—I have a child—and I cannot help but fear what this means for other people like myself. Will they begin to blame the victims after they pardon the guilty?"

Mrs Andromeda Tonks offered a different opinion, "He [Sirius Black] is my most beloved cousin and I've always known he wasn't responsible for Lily and James' deaths. They were his family more than the Blacks ever were and he would have rather died than betray them."

Although the mechanics behind Mr Pettigrew's return to the land of the living remain elusive as of now, the implications behind his existence do not and the public is left to question: Was the Ministry wrong in putting Black behind bars? Could there be other innocent men or women serving an undeserved sentence in Azkaban?

And perhaps even more chilling: Could the mistakes of the Ministry years ago mean that we are now walking among freed Death Eaters?

Amanda Lawfayr, Night Oracle correspondent

 _Transcript from the office of Madame Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Room 27, on June 21, 1995 at 13:00. In attendance: Amelia Bones (interviewer), Kingsley Shacklebolt (primary Auror), Harry James Potter (witness), Remus Lupin (acting advisor/step-in guardian for the underage witness) and Augustus Earhart (transcriber)._

BONES: Mr Potter, you are aware why you have been called to the Ministry for this meeting and that everything you say in this room will go on permanent record under case number LV84735 in the ministry archives?

POTTER: Yes.

BONES: And you are also aware that you have not been arrested, you are merely here as a witness and are, at the moment, under no suspicion of wrongdoing barring anything that might be revealed in this interview which could point otherwise?

POTTER: Yes, ma'am.

BONES: Mr Lupin, your position here today is as a stand-in for Headmaster Dumbledore, Mr Potter's legal magical guardian. As Mr Potter is underage, your presence in this room is required by law to protect and represent his best interest. Is this position clear to you?

LUPIN: Yes, Madame Bones.

BONES: Very well. [paper shuffling] Mr Potter, affirming that you are of sound mind and of honest heart, answer the following questions to the best of your ability: How did you manage to leave the school premises?

POTTER: The Triwizard Cup. It was a portkey and I think it was supposed to take the champion back to the stadium, but it didn't work that way for us and we ended up at a graveyard.

KINGSLEY: Why did both you and Mr Diggory end up there?

POTTER: We decided to touch the cup at the same time so that we could both win.

KINGSLEY: Had it always been the plan to have two Hogwarts champions?

POTTER: [snorts] Of course not, I didn't even want to be in the tournament in the first place.

BONES: Once you arrived at this cemetery, were you alone? Could you make out any distinguishing markers which could tell us where it is located?

POTTER: We were alone at first, but then Pettigrew showed up and [pause] he killed Cedric. Then he tied me to an angel's statue. I can't tell you where the cemetery was exactly, but I know it's around where Tom Riddle died.

KINGSLEY: Tom Riddle?

POTTER: I saw the name on the headstone. It's Voldemort's real name as well as his father's… I suppose that means he was named after him.

[Long pause. Duration: 56 seconds]

KINGSLEY: I hope you understand, Mr Potter, that the claim you are making is a very serious one indeed… How did you come into possession of this information?

POTTER: You didn't know? What, did you think Voldemort just sprouted out of the woodwork one day with ready-made plans to conquer the world? [awkward silence] I know who he is because his diary possessed my girlfriend in her first year of school at Hogwarts and I had to destroy it with a Basilisk fang to save her.

[Second long pause. Duration: 23 seconds]

POTTER: You have no idea what goes on in Hogwarts, do you? And yet, you have no problem sending dementors to hang around students when you don't know how to deal with the problem which you created in the first place.

BONES: I… am afraid that this occurred before my term as head of this department began, but rest assured that the matter will be discussed further. As for You-Know-Who's identity, it has been a mystery that no one has been able to crack since he began his terrorist activities in the late 1960s. If your claim turns out to be true— [interruption by Mr Potter]

POTTER: It is true.

BONES: Then this would be revolutionary for the history of magical Great Britain… something I will make sure to look into further. Mr Earhart, make a note of that. In any case, we are getting off topic—Mr Potter, you say that this grave marker belonged to You-Know-Who's father, what happened after that?

POTTER: I—I can't remember too clearly…

LUPIN: Take your time, Harry, and if it gets to be too much, we'll take a break or move on to the next question.

KINGSLEY: Mr Lupin, it would really help— [interruption by Mr Lupin]

LUPIN: As I said, let him take a moment.

POTTER: It's fine, Moony. [clears throat] After he tied me to the statue, he brought out a cauldron with some sort of potion, then dropped a bundle of...I guess Voldemort...into it and conjured a fire underneath. It began to boil and he cut me to take some of my blood, then cut off his own hand and took a bone from Tom Riddle Senior's remains. Everything went into the cauldron and when the ritual was over, Voldemort had risen.

KINGSLEY: Are you claiming to have seen You-Know-Who in the flesh?

POTTER: If you could call it that.

BONES: Might I remind you, Mr Potter, that you are under oath in this room.

POTTER: [speaking louder] I know what I saw and I know it happened. Pettigrew killed Cedric and then used me to build Voldemort a new body. Give Pettigrew some Veritaserum and I'm sure he'll tell you the exact same thing.

KINGSLEY: Due to Pettigrew's…condition, we see ourselves obliged to question everything he says happened that night. Or any night at all.

LUPIN: His condition? I suppose you could call cowardice and stupidity a condition, but since St Mungo's currently doesn't have that under maladies, I can assure you that Pettigrew is as sane as he ever was.

KINGSLEY: He spent twelve years hidden as a rat.

LUPIN: Longer, if you count the years he spent with us at Hogwarts.

BONES: This is not the time for jokes. We need to get back to the purpose of this meeting—Mr Potter, you understand that your statement has gone on official government record and that while it is my intention to keep it sealed for the foreseeable future, this may not be the case for very long once this information is inevitably spread?

POTTER: I know what I saw. Voldemort is back and the sooner people know, the better prepared we can be.

KINGSLEY: Thank you for your time, Mr Potter. We will let you know if we need anything else from you.

BONES: Yes, this matter has been concluded for now, though I strongly suspect that this will not be the last we hear from you, Mr Potter. Mr Lupin.

LUPIN: Good day, Madame Bones. Auror Kingsley.

KINGSLEY: Mr Lupin. Mr Potter.

POTTER: Bye.

[LUPIN and POTTER leave the room]

BONES: That will be all, Mr Earhart, thank you for your time.

 _Meeting concluded at 13:47._

Hey Harry,

How are you? Haven't heard from you in a while so I thought I'd see how you were doing. How are Moony and Padfoot?

Things at the Burrow are kind of calm for once. Charlie's coming over soon for a couple of weeks so mum and dad are real excited. Mum won't stop cleaning the house, I told her we're not expecting royalty, it's just Charlie for crying out loud! But she won't hear it, so we're all stuck doing whatever chores come to her mind (I'm technically supposed to be cleaning the attic right now).

Have you heard from Hermione? I've only gotten one letter from her and that was before she went off to visit her dear Vicky in his ice cave in Bulgaria. She mentioned something about an ancient castle (because we don't have plenty of those lying around here), but there was a pretty bad storm down there a few days ago, so I guess her and Vicky won't be doing much sightseeing after all.

Now that things have changed and you don't live with your aunt and uncle anymore, do you think you could come visit us at the Burrow (you'll get to play Quidditch with me and see Ginny)? Mum told me to say that you're welcome anytime, but you know that already.

Think about it and get back to me.

Ron

Hey Ron,

It's good to hear from you, mate. Everyone's good around here, going a bit stir-crazy, but nothing new otherwise.

I know we thought it would be easier to see each other this summer, but I got a letter from Dumbledore the other day and he said that about a dozen reporters had to be removed from stalking around Privet Drive. I have no idea how they even found out I used to live in that neighbourhood, but I sure as hell don't want to bring them to the Burrow. The papers are having a field day with all the letters they try to send to me that never make it further than the roof of their offices—not even owls can find this place.

I was called into the ministry a couple of days ago to answer some questions about what happened at the cemetery and then they called me back in again to talk about Black. They even asked Remus to come. We told them what we knew and they didn't seem too happy about it—especially Fudge.

Tell your mum thank you for the invitation, but I won't be able to make it anytime soon. Maybe when things calm down a bit, but enjoy your time with your brother. I know Ginny's real excited to see him and you must be, too.

I'll write again, soon.

Harry

July 31st, 1995

 **The-Boy-Who-Lived Lives Again**

July 31st. Fifteen years to the day, one Harry James Potter came into the world and subsequently saved the wizarding world from a horrifying fate at the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named a mere year later. And now, I'm here to bring to you some electrifying news about our beloved hero.

In a dramatic twist of murder and resurrection, the final task of the Triwizard Tournament has left the British wizarding public with fear in their hearts and more questions in their mind than the answers of the Ministry can satisfy. Five weeks have gone by since the disastrous conclusion to the Tournament and there still remain mysteries which have yet to be solved.

To make matters even more interesting, Harry Potter can be found at the very heart of this little web of intrigue—our very own saviour!—having been the one person who was both present for the murder of young Cedric Diggory and also responsible for the apprehension of Peter Pettigrew. Said apprehension has since led to the reopening of the Sirius Black case and the removal of Black's name from The Most Wanted list at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement which was followed by a statement last week issued by the Minister himself calling Black in for questioning. Arrangements have been made by our very own Head of Department, Amelia Bones, outlining that under the terms of Black's surrender, he is to be kept in a Ministry holding cell until his case has been properly reviewed by the Wizengamot.

It is rumoured that Mr Potter's testimony was of great influence in this decision, but The-Boy-Who-Lived has refused to be interviewed by myself or any other reporter and has only been seen twice in public since the end of term at Hogwarts. Out of these two sightings, both of them occurring at the Ministry, we can positively confirm that Mr Potter has been questioned by Aurors as to his involvement, but records of such interviews have been sealed by the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, which begs the question: Just what kind of information had been deemed too sensitive for the public's eye?

After much urging from you, my loyal readers, and from a place within my heart that demands the truth be known, I have been following this case very closely and have the following to say:

All of us can remember the events of October 31st 1981—we've told the story to our children before they go to bed, we have even written books speculating what exactly happened between a one-year-old magical child and the most powerful Dark wizard of our time. And yet, can anyone truly say, with no doubt in their mind, what happened that night? How is it that a child stood in the way of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and not only survived, but vanquished the Dark wizard in the process?

And what do we truly know about Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, who has now survived two encounters with death at the cost of another's life? Could more than just a miracle have helped young Harry survive nearly fourteen years ago, and once again last month?

In light of recent events, it is these types of questions that plague me at night as I attempt to make sense of the situation. The public deserves to know the truth behind Pettigrew's reappearance, Mr Diggory's untimely death, Mr Potter's involvement, and the likely consequences to the wizarding world that began the night of the last task and are beginning to manifest today in the search for Sirius Black.

Stay tuned, my lovely readers, as this reporter prepares to go above and beyond to uncover the truth behind what is shaping out to be the biggest and most titillating mystery in the history of wizarding Britain.

Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet journalist

He was at the graveyard again. Voldemort had risen from his cauldron and was flying behind Harry. His robes billowed out like a bat's wings as he swooped down over Harry's head, arms stretched out and eyes gleaming a bloody red, making promises of a slow, painful death.

Cedric was running with Harry. Pettigrew hadn't killed him yet, or maybe he had and this was his ghost. But he wasn't transparent and ghostlike-white, he looked normal, could pass as human anyday.

Harry kept running. He jumped over a headstone and came to a stop by the statue of the angel.

Overhead, Voldemort hovered in the air. He observed them with ruby eyes and a cold smile. His lips parted, leaving a large, endless, gaping black hole. A hand reached out of Voldemort's mouth, it grasped at air as it tried to climb out before bracing itself against Voldemort's face and pushing down, bringing itself up. The creature landed at Voldemort's feet, a bundle of grey with sharp edges and cutting corners.

A second hand peered out of Voldemort's mouth and before long there were three dementors, sans cloak, poised at Voldemort's beck and call. They were skeletons covered in grey skin which sagged from their bones to drip in strips of flesh. Inexplicably, Harry still could not see their faces, their cloaks were nowhere to be found, but the area where their head should be was dark and blinding. It was looking directly at the sun without glasses or staring at your own reflection in a broken mirror.

Pettigrew appeared in a billow of dark smoke and threw the Killing Curse at Harry. The ground came up to meet him and he died.

Pettigrew cackled.

Harry was dead, but he could see—he couldn't move—and he saw himself staring at himself. Other Harry began to cry and scream. He screamed and screamed until it became a shrill ringing in their ( _his?_ ) ears where you couldn't tell anymore what that sound was, just that it hurt to listen to it.

Voldemort still hovered in the air, only his face was no longer his, it was a young boy's—pale skin, thick hair, aristocratic nose: charming—and he was giggling.

The dementors descended on Harry, now rooted next to Cedric's corpse, and they sucked out his soul.

But Harry didn't feel any different because he was Voldemort now and he had finally killed the boy that fashioned himself a hero and he was _free_ …

Harry woke up and vomited over the side of his bed. He groaned as he reached for his glasses on the bedside table then stumbled to the bathroom. After getting himself cleaned up, he briefly considered cleaning the mess he'd made of the floor, but ultimately decided to leave it to Kreacher for once and walked down to the kitchen.

"G'morning."

"Mornin'."

"Yeah."

Remus and Sirius were seated across each other, both reading different sections of the same paper and drinking their cups of tea. Harry sat down with his own cup at the head of the table and picked at a few pieces of toast laid out for breakfast.

"We're going on to four and a half hours, now," commented Sirius. "I call that progress."

"Felt like two. Did I wake you?"

"You wouldn't have if we hadn't put those Alarm Charms in your bedroom," said Remus, turning a page with ink smudged fingers.

"I still think it's ridiculous," grumbled Harry, "there's already one person losing sleep in this house, why do you want there to be more?"

"We've talked about this before and you know what Poppy said the last time you made us call her," said Sirius.

"I didn't make you call—"

"We've already talked about this." Sirius folded his newspaper and turned his grey eyes to look at Harry. "You have night terrors, Harry. Very violent ones. Sometimes you can wake yourself up, other times you can't, and we can't have you choking to death in your sleep because you weren't conscious enough to turn yourself over before throwing up."

"That nearly only happened one time."

"That's still one too many times in my opinion."

"If you would just—"

"No. We're the adults and you're the child. I might not have been around in your life for very long, but even I know that the adult makes the decisions in this relationship and this decision has been made." Sirius' expression cleared, became something softer. "If your only problem with this is that Remus and I are losing a bit of sleep, then consider it us making up for all those nights you should've woken us up in the middle of the night as a toddler. Can we drop this now?"

"Fine." Harry took a sip of his tea to hide the uncomfortable warmth blooming on his cheeks and the fluttery feeling in his gut.

"Hedwig brought some letters for you," said Remus. "I gave her food, water and put her to rest. Your letters are on the counter," he nodded to a small pile of envelopes behind Harry.

"Thanks, I'll look at them later."

Remus nodded at that and they spent the rest of breakfast in silence.

It was nearing eleven o'clock by the time Harry got around to opening his mail. He found several belated birthday cards, two weeks' worth of subscription to the Daily Prophet and a separate letter from Dumbledore. Harry had never been more grateful for his familiar than he was at that very moment. She must have carried the heavy bundle hundreds of kilometres worth of distance just to get them all here at the same time.

The letters from his friends were as cheery as they could make them, considering the circumstances, with promises to give him his gifts the next time they saw him. Ginny's letter exploded all over him as soon as he opened it, showering him in green coloured glitter while it sang a slightly altered version of the poem she'd sent him her first year.

" _His eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad,_

 _His hair is as black as a blackboard,_

 _He's finally mine, he's truly divine,_

 _The hero who conquered the Dark Lord."_

He marveled at Ginny's ability to make him truly laugh for the first time in weeks from miles away. He pulled out a couple of moving photographs from the remains of the envelope and found captured moments of life at the Burrow. Mrs Weasley singing to herself as she cooked in the kitchen, then catching sight of the photographer and waving; Ron, the twins and Ginny playing Quidditch in the backyard; Ron sitting at the table and looking positively murderous as Percy stood over him and pointed things out (presumably errors) on the piece of parchment he'd been working on; Mr Weasley in his workshop with Ginny, listening to her intently as she held up a stapler for his perusal; Hermione standing in front a snow covered castle, her face barely discernible from beneath her giant scarf. And finally, a picture of just Ginny, sitting with her back against a tree, a forgotten book in her lap and joy on her face as she peered through the paper and looked straight at Harry.

He carefully, reverently, placed the photographs on a bookshelf next to the album Hagrid had given him, but kept the one with just Ginny propped against the lamp on his bedside table. Later, he'd ask Sirius if he wouldn't mind sparing some frames to put the photographs in.

As he opened the letter from Dumbledore, he expected to find a birthday wish to match the others with maybe news from the ministry as to how Sirius' case was going, but what he read instead was something he never would've expected.

"Sirius!" yelled Harry as he ran down the stairs, almost bumping into his godfather as the man rounded a corner.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Dementors. Someone sent dementors to Privet Drive." Harry's mind was spinning.

"What! Are you sure? Dementors aren't allowed outside of Azkaban, that's the only reason the public even tolerates having them around," said Sirius.

"Read for yourself," Harry handed him Dumbledore's letter. "Three dementors had to be removed by Aurors from Privet Drive five days ago. Arabella Figg spotted them loitering around the Dursleys' house and called Dumbledore, but not before they managed to kiss three people on a playground nearby. A playground, Sirius… I don't know who they were, they could've been children!"

"I think it's safe to say that the dementors didn't make their own way to the exact place where you used to live," Sirius' voice was rendered flat under the weight of his anger.

"Have dementors ever escaped from Azkaban before?"

"Why would they? They basically have no reason to. They live with a buffet of criminals to feed off of," Sirius said, "though I suppose it must get tiring, always eating the same thing over and over again. Had they truly escaped, they would've headed to the big cities with plenty of places to hide and thousands of people to suck the happiness from."

"You don't think Voldemort had something to do with this?" asked Harry.

"He'd want to gather his followers around him first, Voldemort has been gone for more than a decade and his Death Eaters are scattered around the country, around the world. Not to mention that he can't hope to do much damage with such few numbers," Sirius seemed to be thinking out loud rather than talking to Harry at this point. "It's been more than a month since his return and he hasn't done anything yet, but that doesn't mean he won't, he's just biding his time, maybe even waiting for the public to do his job for him with the way they're tearing you a new one on the media."

"Please, don't hold back on my account," said Harry dryly.

"Never, pup," Sirius winked, then turned on his heel and walked them into the kitchen, lighting a fire with his wand and placing a kettle full of water to boil. "Only option we have left is that someone sent them specifically to you—whether to simply scare you or kill you, I think the soulless bodies speak for themselves." Sirius next words tumbled clumsily over his tongue as he pushed to get them out, "You haven't—your nightmares and the scar… that hasn't shown you anything, right?"

Harry stared intently at the clock hanging over the doorway. He tried not to let the reminder that he held a piece of that monster inside him rattle him too much. He'd had his time to deal with it and he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't eternally grateful he'd found the guts to spill the secret to Sirius and Remus.

 _Horcrux._ It sounded like a sickness, that hacking cough that feels like you're pulling up pieces of your lungs through your throat every time a fit hits. There probably wasn't a latin term for splitting your soul into pieces through irredeemable acts of pure evil.

"No. Sometimes, I think a few things leak through the," — _soul connection? Attempted-murder-bond?_ — "link, but it's never clear enough to get a good look. Maybe if Dumbledore hadn't taught me better this summer, if I just had the connection open enough to see something… maybe three people wouldn't be dead because of me," muttered Harry.

"Don't be stupid, even if you hadn't lived in Privet Drive then the dementors would've been sent someplace else and maybe even more people would've been kissed. Since you haven't received anything from _his_ side, this is the fault of whichever other bastard sent those monsters after you in the first place."

"I'm more worried about who in the ministry managed to arrange it so that three dementors could escape from Azkaban unnoticed and attack a civilian population," Remus' voice chimed in from where he was leaning against the doorway.

"The ministry?" asked Harry. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to realize that with all the Death Eaters on the Wizengamot and hidden in the government, our list of likely suspects has suddenly become rather long."

Sirius cursed as the kettle started to whistle. He poured them all cups of tea before he said, "Just what we need: a trigger happy ex-Death Eater with a high enough government position to be able to pull this off and a bone to pick with Harry."

"Nothing new then," Harry shrugged.

"This is serious."

"Isn't it always?"

Sirius' lips thinned to a flat line and he said nothing else.

"They didn't get what they wanted this time. We're not gonna find the news on the paper either. The ministry admitting that they can't control one of the most terrifying and dangerous Dark creatures on earth? Please." Remus blew on his tea. "I'm worried they'll take this as encouragement to try again."

"They don't know where I am."

"They know where you'll be nine months out of twelve."

"That's a pretty big window," muttered Sirius.

"You taught me how to do a Patronus third year," Harry pointed out.

"And how many will that defend you against? Nevermind what could happen to every other student I _didn't_ teach the spell to," Remus shook his head and it swung like a pendulum from side to side.

"Dumbledore knows," Harry said, weakly.

"Funnily enough, that might be the only good thing about this entire situation." Sirius sighed, then said, "You're not the only one talking to Dumbledore either. He's been offering advice on this whole trial thing. Making amends, I suppose. He thinks we should give it a couple of weeks 'til they're really desperate and then I should turn myself in."

" _What?_ " The legs of his chair squeaked against the floor as Harry forcibly pushed himself up. "You've been in hiding for a year because they don't just want to send you to Azkaban—oh no!—they want to suck your soul out of your body, and now, you're telling me that you want to willingly hand yourself over to those people?"

Sirius appeared to be smirking. "Exactly what I told him, but Dumbledore is positive that the ministry wasn't lying with that statement they made the other day. He honestly believes this time I'll be given a fair trial and word is that Bones herself will be in charge of it this time."

"Merlin himself could be leading the Wizengamot and he would still need those Death Eaters' votes to set you free," argued Harry. "This is insane! Is it so boring for you, being stuck in this house with us, that you're willing to risk your life just to leave?"

"You know it's not like that—"

"Show me, then! Coz all I can see right now is you lying helpless on the ground while a dementor sucks the soul out of your mouth."

Harry's stomach was filled with hot coals, weighing heavy and burning his stomach from the inside out as the heat moved to his lungs and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't.

"Hey hey hey hey, stay with me, pup. Come on, Harry." Sirius' voice came from the other end of a tunnel, or maybe from underwater, he wasn't sure anymore. "Deep breaths. Here, breathe with me," Sirius grabbed both of Harry's hands and pressed them against his chest so he could feel it rise and fall.

Harry mimicked Sirius' breathing and it helped, but he could still feel the panic bubbling at the surface of his mind, waiting for the right moment when it could reach a boiling point and take over him entirely.

"That's not gonna happen, you hear me? People are questioning the ministry now, they're not running scared out of their minds, ready to crucify anyone who looks at them funny," said Sirius. "I've actually thought this through, Harry, and I know that the way things are right now, I'm as close to useless as I can be. But if I were really free? I could really take care of you and I wouldn't feel like I'm wasting away in this godforsaken hellhole."

"And if it's all a lie? They lock you up, and what then? " challenged Harry.

"Dumbledore swore he'd help me escape this time if anything goes wrong. I'm not going back to Azkaban. I'm not leaving you again." Sirius's hand wrapped around the back of Harry's head and pulled him in for a hug neither knew they needed until they were in each other's arms. "Just think, if this works out, then I'm finally free, for good. I can go out on the street as myself, I can leave this house and we can find someplace else to live, somewhere better. I could really help, not stand by the sidelines and watch as everyone else does something except me." He whispered, "I need this. After all these years, we all do."

Harry closed his eyes, unable to handle the truth behind those simple words. His godfather was heading into a win-all or lose-all situation under the hands of the same people who had stolen thirteen years of his life in the first place.

But if he won…

Remus let out a suspiciously wet cough and said, "We'll be talking about it more once Dumbledore comes by again, we'll have a set plan by the time Sirius needs to make an appearance at the ministry."

Shrugging off Sirius' embrace, Harry announced, "I'm going upstairs."

He marched up the stairs to the topmost room in the house, shutting the door firmly behind him, leaving his forehead pressed against the wood until a hard nudge against his back had him turning around.

"You can't be that mad at me, I was here two days ago."

A huff of warm air beat against his face and then a head of feathers was nestling its way up his chest, knocking the air out of him. The hippogriff beat his hooves against the ground and clicked its beak.

"You're right, I'm sorry," whispered Harry as his hand ran across the top of Buckbeak's head, "it was very rude of me not to show up. In my defence though, when you've gone two days without sleep, you tend to lose track of things. It's a terrible excuse, but what can you do?"

Buckbeak's feathers stood on end, prickling Harry's fingers until the hippogriff bumped Harry's hand away and stood up to his full height. He looked down at Harry with reproachful orange eyes and snapped his beak.

"Hey, I don't need you harping on me, too. I get enough of that in this house and believe me, I'm trying."

Harry pushed around Buckbeak's imposing figure, familiar with the magical creature to the point that he knew he didn't have to worry he'd see it as a sign of disrespect. He made his way over to the floor to ceiling windows Sirius had built in the room and sat down with his legs crossed, facing outside. Buckbeak soon joined him at his side, legs tucked down underneath him and wings folded against his back as they both watched the grey of the sky dissolve into mist which hovered over the rows of houses like an army of ghosts.

"You'd probably agree with him, wouldn't you?" asked Harry, eyes following the neighbour's dog as he strutted around his garden and began digging a hole. "You don't deserve to be stuck here any more than he does, you know. I wish I could let you out to fly, maybe you could visit Hagrid for a while." On cue, Buckbeak's head dropped to his chest and he emitted a small, sad whistle. "I'm sure he misses you, too."

Harry was running his hand through the back of Buckbeak's wing—a privilege the hippogriff only gave to Harry and Sirius, still rather wary of the werewolf in the house—when he spoke again, "You're a lot like him, you know. Sirius, I mean. You're stuck in here, accused of something that wasn't even your fault, and all you want to do is say 'fuck it' and break through that window if it means that you get to fly away for a while." Harry paused, his thoughts now travelling much further than the confines of that house. "I promise you'll get to fly again," he whispered. "Worse comes to worse, we'll just change your name, paint a couple of your feathers, and no one will know the difference."

He imagined Buckbeak's following chirps were the hippogriff's way of agreeing with him.

Harry stayed watching the view out the window with Buckbeak until it got too dark to tell the difference between the sky and the houses below. When the streetlights began to turn on, one by one, Harry rose to his feet, gave a slumbering Buckbeak one last pat on his head, and went to his room.

That night, he dreamt of a full moon casting a silver light on Buckbeak and Sirius' silhouettes as they flew across the night sky, echoes of green lightening and mad cackles creeping in after them.


	2. Chapter 2

"Good morning."

"Good morning. How have you been?"

"Exhausted," Alice sighed. "If mental acrobatics counted as a sport I'd be welcomed at the Olympics."

"The what?"

"Nevermind. How are things on your side of the pond?"

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," Sirius cleared his throat. "You been keeping up to date with the news?"

"Of course," Alice answered easily.

"They have Pettigrew in custody. From what Dumbledore has been able to glean from their investigation, they're starting to doubt I was the one that killed James, Lily and those twelve Muggles."

"Starting to?" The flames licking across her face did nothing to conceal the doubt dominating her features.

"Madame Bones herself called for a review of the evidence some weeks ago and after that the Minister released a press statement. They want me to hand myself in for questioning—not at Azkaban. Dumbledore thinks it's a good idea to wait a bit before turning myself in." Sweat began to bead at the edges of his hairline and Sirius wiped it off with a twitchy hand.

"I see."

He waited for her to elaborate. "Is that all you're going to say?"

"What do you want me to say? It sounds like you've made up your mind already, Black, and you only called me to let me know which cell I could find you in when I come back," she snapped.

"It's not like that," he protested. "Dumbledore really thinks—"

"You're relying on Dumbledore's word for your freedom? I seem to recall another time when you did the exact same thing and now it's fourteen years later and all you can add to your resume is your perfect attendance at _Azkaban prison_." Her acidic demeanour lasted all of three seconds before she sighed and the wind stopped blowing against her sails and she was left drifting on the water. "I just don't want you to go head first into something without really thinking it through."

"I've given it a lot of thought, Ali," he clasped his hands under his chin. "I can't keep hiding in here much longer, I'll go , I'll get desperate, which is what landed me in Azkaban in the first place."

"What does Harry have to say about this?" she asked.

"He doesn't like it either and I can't blame him for it. I don't know… I guess it feels like I might have a chance here and even if I don't, I don't know that for certain yet, not really. Not unless I actually take a chance."

"Because you haven't taken enough chances already?"

"I took a chance on you, didn't I? I think that turned out well enough."

"Not everyone is as understanding or lacks as much self-preservation as I clearly do. Getting involved with an escaped murderer, what was I thinking?" she said.

"Between my twinkling eyes and daredevil smile, you never stood a chance, love," he puffed out his chest and smiled roguishly.

"You'd figure the decade's worth of poor hygiene would've scared me away, but I think it added a literal air of mystery around you," she laughed and enjoyed the way his eyes wrinkled at the corners when he grinned carelessly. "You're really set on this?"

"We're going to put a plan in place in case anything happens, and another plan if the second plan doesn't work and so on. I'm being careful here, Ali, I swear," he said. "Don't you want to be able to go out of the house with me? Go shopping in Diagon Alley and complain about the price of powdered salamander like every other normal witch and wizard?"

"I do," she admitted, "but not at the risk of your life. I'm coming back in ten days, promise me you won't do anything until then."

"Promise."

"I know it's a few days overdue, but wish Harry a happy birthday from me," she said, "and tell Remus to hold on, he won't have to deal with your sorry ass alone for much longer."

"I seem to recall you calling my ass a lot of things, but sorry was never one of them," Sirius winked. "I'll tell him in a few, when Dumbledore's done with him."

"Dumbledore's there right now?" asked Alice, sounding shocked.

"He's the best Occlumens I've ever met—sorry, love—and he's teaching Harry a few tricks to be sure to keep Snakeface from bleeding out of his nightmares into real life."

"That's good at least. I can't even begin to imagine how he's dealing with everything that's happened to him. How either one of you has," she added with a worried look in her eyes.

"One day at a time, isn't that what you told me?"

"Sounds like the type of smart thing I'd say."

They shared a moment of comfortable silence until faint voices started making their way across their Firecall to Sirius. He could briefly make out the nasally voice of a woman before Alice's face morphed into a mask of annoyance and she disappeared from sight, only to come back seconds later.

"My _boss_ ," the word pushed itself through her teeth in obvious disdain, "is calling for me. She seems to have conveniently forgotten that today is my one day off and is demanding I tutor her lovely daughter. I'm sorry we have to cut this short," and she truly was sorry, Sirius could tell.

"Me, too. We'll see each other soon, though."

"Ten days?"

"Ten days," he promised.

"Bye, Black."

"Laters, Ali," he shamelessly brought his hand to his lips and blew her a kiss, delighting in the way her smile stretched uncontrollably across her face as she rolled her eyes at him.

The connection cut off and Sirius heaved himself out of his armchair, sweeping the ashes from the fireplace and replacing the empty bag of Floo powder on the mantelpiece. His body was one big creaking joint as he stretched out his arms over his head, speaking of an age far older than what he actually was—a product of his years in confinement, no doubt.

As he walked past the door leading to the ground floor dining room, muffled voices from inside had him coming to a stop. The door had been left open just a crack. He positioned himself so he wouldn't be seen but could still catch tendrils of what was being said.

"It's not working. I keep seeing through him in my dreams even though I always do the exercises you taught me," Harry was saying.

"I suspected as much," answered Dumbledore. "It is not simply a matter of a regular attack on the mind, after all. Voldemort is already in your head, whether he knows it yet or not, and it is likely that whilst you sleep and cease actively shutting him out, when you stop and let your mind rest and regroup, he gains access without even knowing it. The soul fragment he left in you, it's calling to the rest of itself. You will not be able to shut him out entirely when such a crucial part of him is essentially living inside you."

"But I can't keep going like this for much longer." A strangled noise escaped Harry, like the kind a trapped animal would make. "He only has his Death Eaters to entertain him right now and the things he does to them… You have no idea. Sometimes, I see everything and then other times it's like I'm in another room looking through a dirty window, but I can always feel what he does to them. It's _my_ hand that casts those curses and it's _his_ laugh that comes out of my mouth when they start to scream. I know it's not actually me that's doing those things," he breathed in deeply, "but that's what it feels like. Every time. And these, these are horrible people but they're still people and I don't know what will happen to me when he gets bored. He's in hiding, but he's not going to stay there forever so when he moves on to others? To innocent Muggles, Half-bloods, magical creatures, just for the fun of it?"

The silence stretched on for so long that Sirius thought the discussion had come to an end, but then he heard Harry whisper, "I don't know if I can survive that."

"We cannot remove the Horcrux without risking—"

"I know," said Harry, "I know. I just need something else, some sort of plan or solution for when he really starts up his crusade again. There has to be something."

"I will begin to truly search in earnest," said Dumbledore. "I plan on travelling for the remainder of the summer and I have acquaintances who know more about the intricacies of the human mind than I could ever hope to learn. If there is a solution to be found, I will find it."

"Until then?"

Sirius heard Dumbledore sigh heavily. "I can only advise that you continue the exercises I showed you and if you feel at some point that you need to truly rest to gather back your strength, then you may take a dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion. However, I wish to impress upon you that only in the direst of cases should you resort to it. The potion is highly addictive. You would not realize the state you are in until it is far too late to turn back. Do not drink it for more than four consecutive nights and allow yourself only seven days of dreamless sleep a month. No risks, Harry."

"I don't need any more problems, Professor. I'll be careful."

"Be fearful."

A ping of a cup being set on its plate was followed by the light tread of footsteps on carpet.

Sirius hastily retreated around the corner of the hallway in time to hear the creak of the door as it was pulled open. Harry and Dumbledore exchanged pleasantries on the hall before Dumbledore walked away and left Harry standing alone.

Sirius watched as his godson remained rooted to the spot for a couple of moments, staring at a peeling spot of wallpaper. He suddenly jolted lightly and retrieved something from his pocket and held it out in front of him. His muttered 'hey' trailed after him as he left Sirius' line of sight and walked up the stairs.

Sirius headed in the opposite direction, going down the stairs to the basement which had been set up as a potions lab two generations of Blacks ago. He approached the brown liquid sizzling over the fire, pulled out the materials he'd need, and lost himself in the complicated steps for brewing Wolfsbane Potion.

His thoughtless peace came to an end too soon as he placed a lid over the cauldron and let his hands hang loosely at his sides with nothing left to do but wait for the brew to simmer. He collapsed on a wooden stool and rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes.

It worried him that Harry's sleep dilemma apparently went a lot deeper than simple nightmares. At least with his own night terrors, Sirius knew exactly what to expect and he had the comfort (it didn't count for much, if he was being honest, but it was there) of knowing that whatever he was reliving had already happened to him—it was in the past now and there was nothing he could do to change it. There were things that still haunted him to this day, both old and new, and he had seen them replayed in his head too many times to count, but he didn't think he could be caught off guard anymore.

Harry faced a new, unknown horror every night when he closed his eyes. And whatever he was shown in his dreams, he had to wake up and spend the rest of his day, his life, knowing that somewhere out there what he had seen had actually happened. The hand that that he lifted to torture and kill, the rush that he felt when his victims would shout and plead for their lives—that wasn't him, but that's how it felt like to him. And he could do nothing about it.

"I'm always failing you, Prongs," Sirius spoke to the ceiling. "I couldn't help Harry before because I was in prison for being a clueless, trusting idiot and now that I'm here, I might as well not be for all the good it does Harry." He let his head fall back until it hit the concrete wall. "I don't know how to help him this time. I don't think there's anything I can do and I'm so sorry. So, so sorry."

He told himself he hadn't been expecting it: the cold draft that would rush into the room and rustle the papers on the table until one of them got too close to the flame under the cauldron and caught fire, its smoke rising curiously in the shape of branching plumes that could be mistaken for antlers and that's how he would know he was being given a sign.

But there was no fire in the basement. It remained just as it was when Sirius had walked in and he'd been expecting that. He'd known.

He stayed down there until the sun went down.

Since his first official foray into the Ministry of Magic after Crouch's body was found, and then again when he was called in for questioning on Cedric's death, Harry had optimistically (if foolishly) thought he'd seen the last of the Wizengamot courtrooms.

A door slammed somewhere down the hall and the sound carried to Harry's little procession group, bouncing off the wall like the ball in a pinball machine—the type he'd never been allowed to play because his aunt could never see the point in wasting her husband's hard earned money on two minutes of button clicking. A difficult concept for a five year old to understand when Dudley was three feet away feeding coins into the machine like he had an endless supply. (Which, in a way, he did.)

" _Welcome to the Ministry of Magic,_ " cooed the automated voice in the elevator.

Remus pressed the button for their floor and shuffled to the very back of the metallic structure. He dropped his chin to his chest and kept his arms folded in front of himself, another innocuous passenger.

" _Third floor: Potions, Herbs and Magical Ingredients Regulatory Department._ "

A blonde woman joined them wearing a bucketful of perfume over a green dress. As the doors clanged shut, she tensed, which put Harry on alert. Behind her, Remus had gone curiously still and seemed to be holding his breath, his body shrinking into itself with every inhale-exhale motion. Harry shifted until he formed a barrier of clothes and flesh between the mystery woman and Remus, but if anything, that seemed to put her on higher guard and she punched in the number for the coming floor.

" _Sixth floor: Magical Inventions, Patents and Business Development Department_."

The doors had barely slid open when the woman sucked in her gut and pushed herself through the gap, heels skidding on the floor with a shrill squeak as she rounded the corner in record time.

"What was that?" asked Harry.

"She was an Animagus," said Remus, "feline from the smell of it, though I can't tell you what type."

"Is that why she ran away like the hounds of Hell were on her tail?"

"She must've caught my scent, the werewolf."

Harry's head swivelled on his shoulders. "Animagi can do that? Even when they're not in their animal form?"

"It takes practice, fleshing out your Animagus senses enough that you're able to hone in on them when you're not changed. Or so I'm told." There was a weight, a bitterness, to that statement that Harry decided was best left alone. He was hardly the first person to go to for dealing with personal demons, after all.

A ping of a bell and they were marching down identical grey halls to courtroom 27. Harry's fingertips had barely grazed the surface of iron glazed wood before the doors swung open on their own and they were herded in from behind by a group of wizards in deep purple robes.

The courtroom was alive with conversation between seat partners and mumbled pardons from newcomers pushing over others and trodding on their feet on their way to find their assigned bench. More than a couple of witches and wizards caught sight of Harry as he sat down at the gallery and word spread until everyone had had their own quick look at the Boy Who Lived attending his murderous godfather's trial.

The chamber was rounded in structure, like a mini-colosseum, with short wooden walls separating the benches from the open area right in the centre where a chair was already waiting for its occupant. Madame Bones sat at the head of the room directly opposite the door. Members of the Wizengamot surrounded her in rows of royal purple. These ended at two separate partitions on opposite sides of the chamber where they turned into galleries for the newspapers and visitors.

Harry held back a shudder as he spotted Rita Skeeter in the media sector. Her hungry eyes had latched onto him as well, ensnaring him through her horn-rimmed glasses. Her crimson lips curled into a leisurely smirk which she licked at with a pointed tongue, all the while keeping eye contact with Harry. A white light tickled the corner of Harry's glasses and Skeeter let him go with one last sly smile.

The light had come from two Patronuses (a squirrel and a pigeon) conjured by the two Aurors flanking a Dementor as it led a restrained Sirius to the middle of the room. Seeing his godfather escorted into the room by one of the monsters that had plagued his every waking moment for twelve years, Harry was glad they had listened to him when he said Sirius should only hand himself in a day before the trial. He hoped the Dementor had only been summoned for transport, if it had done anything to Sirius…

Though his feet were bound in chains and shackled to the ground, Sirius' hands were left free once Madame Bones waved the Aurors and the Dementor away. Minister Fudge kept shooting uneasy glances at Madame Bones but either she didn't see them or she chose to ignore them.

There were bursts of light and plumes of grey smoke as photographers took their pictures of the historic scene. It wasn't long before Madame Bones called it all to a stop and silence fell in the chamber.

"This hearing has been arranged to decide upon the guilt or innocence of Sirius Orion Black, heir apparent to the Royal and Noble House of Black. Fourteen years ago, on November 1st, 1981, he was found guilty of twelve counts of murder, two counts of assisted murder," —Harry felt his stomach give an uncomfortable lurch and lodge in his throat— "one count of assisted attempted murder, and allegiance to the terrorist group known as the Death Eaters, the punishment for which was a lifetime in Azkaban without trial.

"However, the recent emergence of new evidence has called this ruling into question and we will be reviewing said information today to put this issue to rest once and for all," Madame Bones eyed each and every member of the Wizengamot, as though challenging them to question her ultimatum. "We shall begin by hearing the witness testimonies from close to fourteen years ago."

A tall woman marched into the centre of the room with a trunk rolling behind her. She stopped a couple of feet in front of Sirius, paying him no mind as she made a white pedestal appear out of thin air and ducked down to unearth a pensieve and a rack of vials from the trunk.

"Once the testimonies are over, we will hear from Mr Black himself as we should have done all those years ago. After which the questioning may begin."

If Harry weren't so busy worrying over his godfather, he would've found it in him to be amused when an assembly of old wizards cowered under Madame Bones' severe and pointed stare.

The tall witch had sat down the pensieve and pulled out a vial of dark, gaseous liquid which she allowed to spill into the bowl before adding the telling, swirling mass of a memory. She pulled out her wand, shot off a spell, and the inside of an office was projected into the air above their heads for everyone in the room to see.

"Witness testimony of Emily Jane Waterstone, sole surviving witness of the explosion on Jameson Street," announced the witch before retreating from the limelight.

It was a woman in her mid-forties, Harry would guess. She looked like she could've been a mother, out on a last minute shopping expedition to buy her son's favourite snack to take to school the next day, when she got caught in something out of her world. She spoke of seeing two men facing off on a street full of people, shouting at each other (" _James and Lily! How could you!"_ ), before the smallest of the two pulled out a stick and an explosion rocked her peaceful neighbourhood. And then only one man was left, cackling to himself in the newly formed crater.

Rita Skeeter's pen was skating across her notebook in furious scribbles. Harry breathed a small sigh of relief that the wretched Quick-Quotes Quill was nowhere in sight. The testimony had come to an end, the tall witch came back to remove the pensieve and get rid of the pedestal while Madame Bones watched impassively, only moving to look down and take notes.

"Mr Black, it is now your turn to give your statement on your version of events fourteen years ago," said Madame Bones. "No one is to interrupt until Mr Black is done speaking. Only once he is done recounting his story may the members of this court pose their own questions to the accused. Mr Black, begin."

Sirius cleared his throat and straightened himself out on the chair as best he could with his ankles bound into position. Harry watched him as he took in the room face by face and it was at that moment that he realized there was someone missing from the Wizengamot. Dumbledore was nowhere to be found. Harry clenched his teeth and fought to keep his thoughts from showing on his face as his godfather began to tell a captivated audience exactly what had happened to him that night. His voice wavered and broke off mid-sentence on more than one occasion but he soldiered through and the words he'd been keeping inside for more than a century came rushing out like the largest and heaviest of waterfalls.

Harry tuned out the moment Sirius recounted arriving at Godric's Hollow. He retreated to that place in his mind—the safe one—that he visited whenever he meditated. He didn't bother resurfacing until he couldn't hear his godfather's voice anymore, only the scratching of quills on paper framed by soft mutters.

"Mr Black," said a man with a thick moustache, "suppose we believe that it was not you who sold out the Potters to You Know Who or spied for him during the war. How do you expect us to believe that in a fit of rage fuelled by the betrayal of one of your closest friends, you did _not_ attempt to take out your revenge on Peter Pettigrew, but failed and killed twelve muggles in the process?"

"I did not cast any type of spell or curse that would've been able to cause such an explosion," said Sirius, hands gripping the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned as white as the bone underneath.

"Then all we have to do is retrieve Mr Black's wand from evidence and perform a _Priori Incantati_ ," called out a witch with a tight bun pulling back the hair on her head who reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall. "Auror Jones, do us a favour and bring Mr Black's wand down to us post-haste. We've wasted enough time already."

A pointed cough demanded the court's attention and every eye in the room swivelled to Minister Fudge who, for the first time since Harry met him, looked uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"I'm terribly sorry to be the one to inform you that that will not be possible, Madame Adley. At the time of Mr Black's escape from Azkaban, it was decided by myself and a number of advisors that Mr Black's wand should be snapped as a measure of security were he ever able to find a way to infiltrate the Ministry. He would've been infinitely more powerful and dangerous with his own wand," said Fudge.

Madame Bones' nostrils visibly flared, emitting a heavy flush of air as she glowered a thousand curses upon the Minister of Magic.

"I am the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she hissed. "Why was I not consulted? Who could've _possibly_ been better suited to make such a decision than the representative chosen to lead the department of justice?" Her hand slammed down on the podium and the crack of skin against wood had the people gathered dissolving into their seats and averting their eyes. "Putting aside that Sirius Black's wand is now a vital element to this investigation, it was also a precious piece of history. Voldemort's," —Fudge winced— "right hand man. The Potter's betrayer. The man who led _Voldemort_ to his death… You're telling me _his_ wand has been destroyed?"

Pinned under the force of her glare, Fudge ran his tongue across his lips and said, "Yes, Madame Bones."

In response, she appeared to be at a loss for words. She stared at the Prime Minister as he squirmed in his chair and could only bring himself to hold eye contact for so long before he darted his gaze away.

"Very well," she said, coldly. "It appears that through fault of the Ministry itself, this matter cannot be resolved just yet. I therefore call upon the presence of Peter Pettigrew as the only other witness left able to recount what occurred."

The same Aurors who had escorted Sirius left their posts by the door and followed the witch's request.

"You can't take that rat's word for anything, Madame," said Sirius. "He will lie his way through this just like he did his entire life and—"

"You are speaking out of turn," snapped Madame Bones. "This court was made a mockery of once, before my time here, and I will not allow it to happen during _my_ term in office. We are following court procedure to the letter and you will get your turn to speak once more but in the meantime, we shall hear from Mr Pettigrew."

Her orders left no room for argument and Harry was awash with a wave of respect for the woman. It was clear she only cared for politics as far as it pertained to carrying out justice and with a woman like her on Sirius' case, maybe there was a reason for hope after all.

The two Aurors walked in with Pettigrew bound and held between them. When the wizard lifted his head from his chest and caught sight of his surroundings, he let out a pathetic wail and pulled at the Aurors' arms with all his strength.

"N-no no no, please! You can't do this to me. He'll kill me. I can't be here! Sirius Black is right there! Arrest him! Take him to Azkaban! What are you waiting for?"

A wave of magic pushed Sirius' seat to the side to make room for an identical chair for Pettigrew. One of the Aurors—a young woman with purple hair—whispered something in Pettigrew's ear as she sat him down that caused him to begin his struggles anew, but it was too late. A glow from the cuffs around his wrists and ankles assured Harry that he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, no matter which form he took.

Pettigrew's sobs continued to render his presence unbearable. A glimpse in Madame Bones' direction had Harry certain the woman was not in the least bit impressed by the performance. As she called the court to order, he let his attention stray to his godfather.

Sirius had turned to veritable stone. His feet were planted firmly on the ground, knees poised at perfect ninety degree angles. His back was ramrod straight and he was resolutely staring forward, eyes trained on nothing in particular as he fought against every instinct that was likely telling him to break free and kill the man seated to his right.

 _We're so close,_ thought Harry. So close to attaining what little justice Sirius should have been granted years ago, but one look at his godfather now, at the mania slowly peeking out from the corner of his steel eyes, and Harry didn't think they would stand a chance.

Madame Bones introduced Pettigrew to the court over the sound of his cries. As he'd been presumed dead for the past decade, there was no one to call forward to interview on his behalf and she wasted no time moving onto the questioning.

"Lying to the court of the Wizengamot is a punishable offence extending from monetary fines to a sentence at Azkaban," she said. "I therefore urge you to think carefully on what you are going to say as any discrepancies or suspicious behaviour will have dire consequences. Do you understand, Mr Pettigrew?" The couple of hairs sitting atop his head wobbled as he nodded. "Then we shall begin. Is it true that you faked your own death on the night of October 31st, 1981? If so, why?"

"Y-yes. I did it because I feared for my life if I didn't manage to convince Sir—Mr Black that he had killed me when he tried. I'm sure he would've c-come after me again," Pettigrew sniffled.

"Sirius Black was in prison for twelve years before he made his escape. Why did you not reveal yourself before when the Ministry could have offered you protection?"

"I-I knew that he'd find me eventually if I told others I was alive. Not even Az-Azkaban was able to keep him contained. I didn't want to end up like—" Pettigrew hiccuped and lowered his voice to little more than a whisper, "—like James and Lily."

The names hadn't fully escaped his thin lips before Sirius was spitting out curses and throwing out insults into the air as he fought against the restraints protecting Pettigrew from his wrath.

"You don't get to say their names!" he screamed. "You lost that fucking right the second you sold them out to Voldemort, you disgusting piece of human filth. You think you know fear! Pain! I've had twelve years of rotting in a cage thinking about all the things I would do to you the second I got out.

"And then I saw you there, in the paper. _Alive_. I knew exactly what I had to do. I was going to protect my godson and if the only way to do that was to get rid of you," —Sirius' mouth twisted into something cruel and foreign to Harry— "well… two birds."

"Mr Black, that is quite enough—"

"It will never be enough!"

Madame Bones pushed her chair back and braced herself on her desk. "Control yourself, or I will—"

"Throw me in Azkaban again?" Sirius taunted her. "I'll tell you one thing: at least this time you've got me guilty of something, but I don't know if it counts when the only reason I'm here is because of your past mis—"

"Sirius!"

Harry didn't know he'd stood up until every eye in the room turned to him and he had to fight the urge to slink back into his chair.

"Sirius, please. You—you can't just… This is your only chance. Please," Harry pleaded.

It was like a switch was flipped. That manic impulse residing in the outskirts of Sirius' mischievousness was pushed aside and when the lights came back on behind those greying eyes, there was nothing left but the broken remains of a once young man still stuck behind bars. Harry saw everything that his godfather had been trying to hide behind a carefully engineered mask for the past year. It felt like a warning, if not a premonition, but he didn't know for whom.

Harry lowered himself back onto his seat. An uncomfortable stillness had fallen. Madame Bones was appraising Sirius from the head of the room.

"This case is a highly delicate matter. There is no precedent for a situation like this one," she began, "but I'm feeling generous enough to forgive your outburst, Mr Black. This _one time,_ you will not be held in contempt of court. Any further disruption—from anyone—will not be forgiven a second time. Understood?"

Sirius' voice was hoarse when he said, "Yes, Madame. Thank you."

She had already turned away from him before he could finish his sentence and had trained her eyes on a suspiciously quiet Pettigrew. With her full attention resting on him, he didn't remain that way for long.

"You see now, why I've hid all these years? Azkaban hasn't done him any favours. He's even more bloodthirsty now than he used to be and it cost us Lily and James last time." Pettigrew's nose twitched and his body tensed as he said their names. Harry bit back a curse and prayed Sirius didn't fall for the bait. "No one's safe, M-Madame. Least of all me."

"So you've said before. Explain to me, why did Sirius Black come after you the night of the attack?"

"W-what?" Pettigrew stammered. "He wanted to kill me! He'd already killed—"

"By the time Mr Black showed up near your home, Voldemort had been dead for hours. With no master to report to, knowing he'd be questioned the instant he was found, why did he think that it would be a good idea to chase after you? Why cause an uncontrollable explosion on the off chance that it would kill you, when he already knew of your Animagus ability? What was so special about you?"

"I don't—what do you—that isn't…" Pettigrew squinted through the sweat dripping into his eyes. "I-I have no idea what was running through his head. He's Dark! His whole family before him was Dark wizards and witches, it's in his _blood._ "

"I think," murmured Madame Bones, "that there's more to this story than what you are telling us. As it stands, your version of events leaves us with more questions than it provides answers. Will you continue to lie, Mr Pettigrew, or are you prepared to tell the truth?"

A murmur of voices took up the silence left behind by Madame Bones' statement. Pettigrew's mouth hung open like a marionette with its strings cut. The voices of the Wizengamot grew louder as they observed the man slowly lose the colour in his face until Harry half expected to see the colour start seeping out of his clothes as well.

"I swe-swear to you, Madame," chittered Pettigrew, "I don't know what you could possibly mean. I've told you everything I know, I—"

Madame Bones stopped him with a wave of her hand. "Very well. All those in favour of administering Veritaserum on Peter Pettigrew, raise your hand."

More than two thirds of the court raised their hands in the air. Harry couldn't believe it as a wizard was sent to fetch the potion. Pettigrew seemed to be caught somewhere between abject horror and outright disbelief, but he came to life once more when the vial was poised before him.

It took three Aurors to administer the correct dosage on the man—one to hold his head, the other to pinch his nose, and the third to keep count of the translucent drops as they fell into his gasping mouth. The effect was almost immediate, Pettigrew's cries abruptly cut off, as though he'd run out of sounds to let out, and his face went completely slack, devoid of any expression.

"Disclose to the court everything you know about the night of Voldemort's attack on the Potters and the deaths of those twelve Muggles," wheezed an old, bespectacled wizard.

Harry felt his heart beating an unsteady rhythm in the back of his throat. He looked at Sirius and saw that the man had become a stone gargoyle. He was sitting perfectly still, but everything about his face spoke of desperation and a strange sort of hunger as he refused to take his eyes off his former friend.

"The Dark Lord had become impatient…"

Pettigrew proceeded to reveal years' worth of secrets and lies to the full British wizarding court. The potion didn't let him spare any details. His inflammatory words were in great contrast to his monotone voice, so much so that half the people present could not seem to quite grasp the magnitude of what they were hearing until it flew right past them and they were left with their arms in the air in a frantic attempt to gather up all the scattered pieces.

"I knew something had gone wrong when he didn't return. While other Death Eaters went in search of him, I returned home to gather my things before Sirius could find me. He was the only one other than James and Lily who knew about the switch in Secret Keeper.

"We were friends," said Pettigrew, "he thought something had happened to me to make me talk, so it was easy to catch him off guard. I blamed him for their deaths, cut off my finger to make it look like it was all there was left of me, exploded the street, and escaped down the sewers as a rat. I didn't have to travel very far before Bill Weasley found me and took me to his house. I stayed there."

His confession over, Pettigrew slumped to the side like the only thing holding him up had been the pile of secrets he had kept. The room heaved in an exhausted breath. Witches and wizards took off their glasses to pinch the bridge of their noses and stave off the oncoming headaches for a moment longer. Minister Fudge picked up his bowler hat from the ground and used it to fan air to his face. He waved away the offer of a pink handkerchief.

"They have to let him go now, right?

Remus turned at Harry's question and took a moment to think, then said, "I don't know. There is no precedent for how a case like this should go. Sirius was wrongfully imprisoned, but he also escaped Azkaban to kill Pettigrew—that's premeditation of a murder, no matter the reasoning behind it."

"He wouldn't have tried to do anything if he hadn't been imprisoned in the first place," hissed Harry.

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Remus defended. "Let's hope everyone sees it the same way, too."

Around them, members of the Wizengamot had abandoned their seats in favour of clamouring over the rows of chairs to reach the main floor, where they congregated at the foot of Madame Bones' judge's platform. The woman was being cornered in from all sides by senior members of the government demanding her attention and begging for guidance. A cluster of purple sparks burst in the air with a bang, startling the room into silence.

"Hardly the day to come in late to an appointment, I gather," said Professor Dumbledore. "Just as well that I already knew what it was about, wouldn't want to look the fool in court."

Dumbledore strode in without a care in the world. Harry caught himself before he leaned over to check the old wizard's feet and see if he wasn't actually gliding into the room.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," said Madame Bones. She blinked and it was like seeing a puzzle put itself together again. "Everybody get back to your seats—this is court, not a carnival show," she snapped.

One by one, everyone returned to their places. A chair had been left vacant to Madame Bones' right where Dumbledore would soon take his place.

Still under the influence of Veritaserum, Pettigrew did not react when Dumbledore walked past him, but Harry didn't miss the quick look exchanged between him and Sirius. And neither, apparently, did Madame Bones, for she quirked an eyebrow and tracked the headmaster's steps until he was seated next to her.

"It is high time we reached a ruling," she stated. "Fourteen years ago, we thought this matter to be an open and shut case and now we learn that we could not have been further from the truth. Be it fourteen, sixty or a hundred years later, justice will be served. Headmaster Dumbledore, you have been apprised of the situation thus far and are ready to participate in the ruling?"

"Yes, Madame."

" _Hem-hem._ "

If Harry looked deep enough into his subconscious, he was sure he'd be able to unearth long forgotten dreams where a powerful, well-placed Silencing Spell had gotten rid of that saccharine cough for all eternity. He hadn't recognized her before without her garish clothing, but the woman peeking out from behind the Prime Minister was someone he'd never forget.

"Excuse me, Madame Bones, I know I have no authority as the mere Secretary to the Prime Minister of Magic—"

"Quite right, Dolores," Madame Bones interrupted. "It is only as a personal courtesy to the Prime Minister that you are allowed in these chambers at all."

"Oh yes," Umbridge giggled, the sound of burnt sugar. "You see, I was just wondering whether the court would be discussing Mr Black's other, more recent crimes, or if that would be saved for another hearing."

" _Other_ crimes."

"Quite right, my dear. After all, I would assume breaking out of prison to commit murder, then infiltrating a public school and evading arrest would count as crimes, yes?"

"Are you daft, woman?" said Sirius. "The only reason I did any of those things was because I was thrown in prison for something I didn't even do. And the actual person responsible? He was living his life hiding as a rat in a _family home_. He was still at large and possibly looking for an opportunity to finish what his precious master had started. If you had done your job right in the first place—"

"I would watch my tone, Mr Black. It sounds like you're speaking very brazenly against the Ministry of Magic," said Umbridge.

"You're damn right I am." Sirius melted into his chair, leaned his head back against the headrest and quirked an eyebrow in challenge. "Whatcha gonna do now? Throw me in Azkaban again?"

Umbridge's cheeks were stained pink and her lips curled back, showing off two rows of small, gleaming white teeth. "This is the Ministry's court of law—"

"Over which I preside," Madame Bones raised her voice to have it carried over Umbridge's. "Dolores, you are out of bounds. Mr Black was speaking out of turn as well, but he is right. If he is found innocent, any crimes he committed attempting to rectify our government's mistake will be revised privately." Madame Bones' tone sharpened to needle points. "If you cannot keep your commentary to yourself, I will have you escorted out. Secretary to the Prime Minister or not, you will not disrupt my court."

Umbridge stared at Madame Bones and said nothing. The other woman kept her gaze steady and did not let up until, with gritted teeth and a brittle smile, Umbridge relented and inclined her head in submission.

"We are voting."

A man hidden in the back of the room licked the end of his quill and made it hover over his piece of parchment. He nodded at Madame Bones as she turned to the room at large.

"Those who believe Mr Black is still guilty of the crimes he was charged with, raise your wand."

A handful of people raised their wands. Harry noted that most were men who looked to be older than his godfather. It would not surprise him in the least if he were looking at a good portion of the ministry officials who claimed to have been imperiused during Voldemort's reign.

"Those who believe Mr Black to be innocent, raise your wands."

Madame Bones did not wait to finish her sentence before lifting her wand in the air. Harry held his breath as dozens of other members of the court followed suit and blinked back the orange spots clouding his vision.

Across the room, the media representatives were visibly getting restless as they waited for the formalities to come to an end. A couple of photographers had taken their cameras in hand and were subtly trying to push their way to the front of the gallery where they would get an unimpeded view of the spectacle. Harry eyed Rita Skeeter with open unease as she purposefully snapped her purse shut and sat it down in the middle of the passageway leading to the front rows. She saw him looking at her and smirked.

"The majority has spoken—Sirius Orion Black is innocent. He will be declared as such immediately to the public and will receive a formal apology from the Ministry of Magic, along with monetary compensation for this egregious error." Madame Bones slammed her gavel on the block and Harry felt the blow go straight to his head, stealing his breath away. "As for Mr Pettigrew, his trial will be held three weeks from now. In the meantime, Auror Tonks, release Mr Black from his restraints, he is now a free man."

Tonks tripped over her own feet three times in the short walk to reach Sirius' side. The chains fell to the ground with a clang and Tonks held onto Sirius' arm as she helped him to his own two feet. Flashes of light began to go off and blinded Harry so that he barely glimpsed Tonks as she grabbed onto his godfather's hand and whispered something in his ear which had him shake his head and bring up the back of her hand for a kiss.

A second Auror came up to the pair, bidding Tonks to step aside, though she kept pace with her partner as they cleared a path through the throng of reporters and marched Sirius out of the room. Harry made a move to follow them out.

"Not yet. You see how entertained they are with Sirius alone? I don't think you want to see what will happen if you stand up and remind them The Boy Who Lived is here and just so happens to be Sirius Black's godson." Remus' lips were pressed into a thin line while he dutifully made himself as inconspicuous as possible as witches and wizards of all ages rushed past them to take part in the show.

Harry sat back down and waited as the room was emptied out around him, his knee bouncing up and down of its own accord. The room cleared and the two wizards finally exited the courtroom. They weaved through narrow and broad hallways, carefully turning in the opposite direction when their ears alerted them to groups headed their way. They eventually made it to the atrium and though a couple of people slowed their stride when they recognized Harry, no one stood in their way when they stepped into a fireplace and were swallowed up by the green flames.


	3. Chapter 3

It came as no surprise that the news of Sirius' trial had already spread like Fiendfyre by the time Harry, Remus, Sirius and Alice sat down for dinner that evening. Newly returned from her job abroad that very afternoon, Alice regaled them with tale after tale of the many conversations she'd overheard on the streets (the _Muggle_ streets, no less) from passing witches and wizards, most of them coming to London for the sake of saying they were in the city on the very same day Sirius Black's trial took place.

"I don't think I've ever seen anything like it before," she enthused, a forkful of mashed potatoes waving across the air as she emphasized her point, "it's like no one was even thinking about the Statute of Secrecy anymore. There were groups of dozens of witches and wizards just flitting about the train station as if it were an everyday occurrence. The poor Muggles looked like they didn't know what to do with themselves as more of us kept stepping off trains in wizard robes, pointed hats, the whole package. I think I even saw a woman carrying a broom. A _broom,_ Sirius."

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," Sirius shrugged. "They're more likely to chalk it up to some sort of obscure pagan holiday or book convention than think, for one second, that they're surrounded by actual witches."

"They've figured it out plenty of times before. I don't see why they can't do it again," she argued.

"They're Muggles, Ali-cat."

"I'm very much aware of what they are, Black. What's your point?"

"My point is, it's been hundreds of years since the last time we seriously had to worry about them coming after us and that was when they knew there were witches in the world. Or at least, they wanted to believe that there were." Sirius ran a napkin across his lips and took a sip of wine. "They have their sciences now; they don't need magic to explain what they think they already know about the world. They've left us behind and forgotten we even existed. We're nothing but a fairy tale to them."

"Fairy tale or not, times are changing. The world is getting smaller by the minute and I'd rather we had a say in how we come out to the world rather than have them show up at our doorsteps with machine guns instead of torches and pitchforks," said Alice.

"Exactly as I think it," added Remus. "The very notion of keeping entire species and civilizations hidden from the Muggles is preposterous in this day and age. It might have worked in the past when it took weeks just to get a message from one city to another, but we've come past that way of doing things now and it's about time we caught up ourselves with the world around us."

"I don't understand how they haven't figured it out by now. I know the Dursleys only accepted us as real because they didn't have a choice, but not even half the world is like that. What did they think of all the people disappearing and turning up dead because of Voldemort?" asked Harry.

"It was difficult to keep much from the Muggle press since most of the attacks were on Muggle-borns and half-bloods living amongst the Muggles." Remus looked thoughtful as he continued to say: "It was also a pretty tumultuous decade all things considered and I think that helped keep us hidden. Not all deaths and disappearances could be linked to riots and strikes gone wrong, but there were also a couple of incidents which were chalked up to natural disasters and then other natural disasters which were actually magical warfare.

"It was a time of political turmoil and fast changes for both Muggles and wizards, and I think that made it easier for some things to slip through the cracks as we attempted to staunch the rest of the flow."

Sirius nodded his head and, in good humour, added, "Thinking back on it now, we should've been done for on the thirty-first when news spread that Harry had defeated Voldemort. I wasn't around for much of the celebration, but I saw enough on my way to _his_ house to realize that the Muggles couldn't possibly ignore what was right before their eyes this time."

"How come they did, then?" asked Alice.

"I think it was dumb luck," Sirius shrugged. "It was All Hallow's Eve. What better time to chalk up all the weird things you see on the streets than to the one night a year saved for ghosts, witches, vampires and whatever other creature you can think of? We were lucky, that's all."

Harry thought he heard Alice mutter, _"I'm not sure luck is the right word"_ , but she said nothing more on the subject and turned the conversation back to Sirius' hearing. They discussed the event until there wasn't a single eye in the room that wasn't threatening to fall shut at the end of the next sentence. They went to sleep shortly thereafter.

Although he said nothing, Harry didn't fail to notice Sirius leading Alice into his room after they'd wished everyone a good night. His lips pulled at the corners in a soft smile as he watched them go. He was relieved his godfather had found someone who could be there for him like Ginny was there for Harry; they'd have to find someone for Remus next. The young Professor had just won back one of his lifelong friends and Harry planned on making Remus ride on the waves of good fortune that had headed their way and find his own special someone.

In the meantime, he had a certain young witch fighting sleep as she waited for his call and he wasn't planning on disappointing her.

The news of Sirius Black's innocence and Peter Pettigrew's resurrection from the dead had left the citizens of magical Great Britain shaken. Flashbacks to a time not so far behind them when it had been commonplace to open the newspaper to page upon page of obituaries, disappearances and attacks haunted the British populace. Until the situation with Black and Pettigrew had come to light, they'd believed themselves to have moved past those horrible times. The past was the past and there is nothing you could do to change that.

But if the past suddenly clashed with the present?

For weeks after Sirius' visit to the Ministry, the media had been ravenous for news of the newly returned Black heir who was now reportedly living with his godson. Grimmauld Place was already hidden from all sorts of eyes with any charms, spells, wards and potions available to the imagination and Harry soon learned the difference between hiding out of a desire not to be seen and hiding out of a fear of being found.

Though he had wanted to celebrate his freedom by showing his godson all the places their merry little gang of marauders had frequented in their youth, Sirius soon realized that all it took was one young, upstart photographer eager to be the first to discover Sirius Black's dwelling to blow up their carefully constructed routine. Sirius had only been followed as far as his preferred Apparition Point in the park in front of Grimmauld Place before he realized what had happened and quickly changed into his Animagus form and left the young man fumbling in the bushes for his vanished front-page model.

A couple of hours later, the park had been crawling with self-proclaimed bird watchers donning funny robes and carrying antiquated cameras. Still, Sirius was determined not to let that deter him and the members of the park soon became accustomed to the friendly black dog who skipped around with the children and knew how to dutifully bring back anything that was thrown for him to chase.

The last turning point that would push Sirius over the edge came in the form of a stampede of photographers running over the beloved stray in the park. A dark-haired man turning the corner had been spotted by a member of the media and mistaken for Sirius. In their hurry to catch a picture of the poor Muggle man, the gaggle of photographers had overlooked the dog sunning himself on the grass. Sirius had come back to Grimmauld Place with a bloody nose and scrapes all over his arms and legs. He told everyone to pack their things and be ready to leave the next day and then disappeared to lick his wounds in his room.

That had been two weeks ago, which meant that for fourteen days and counting Harry, Sirius and Remus had been living in the countryside in a house that had once belonged to Harry's great-great-great-grandmother and had now been passed on to him. The house (if it could even be called that—Harry likened it to a small mansion in his head) was very old and it showed in the washed out greens and browns creeping down the outside walls and the inescapable mustiness inside that could only come about from years of seclusion and neglect.

The move had been a long time coming and other than freeing Sirius of one more tether linking him to his hateful past, it also served the purpose of freeing up a fully protected, fully functional (if a bit on the Dark side) house capable of housing dozens of people. Grimmauld Place had quickly become the perfect headquarter.

Having revived the Order of the Phoenix shortly after Sirius' trial, Dumbledore jumped on the opportunity to ask Sirius if he would mind loaning his house to the Order. Sirius had blinked, stared at him oddly, and then proceeded to break out into wheezing laughter. Blinking back the tears in his eyes, he'd fished out the keys to the front door and dropped them into the Professor's stunned hands with the words "Why not? It's bad enough having to listen to the senseless rants of my mother's portrait, we might as well give her something proper to complain about. The Black family home as the Order's headquarters! Now that's something, all right."

Adelaide's Manor, as Harry's great-great-great-grandfather had dubbed it when he'd gifted it to his wife, was a two story house with a basement fitted for potion work, a garden (the size of which Harry had yet to finish exploring), five bedrooms, six baths, a kitchen, a dining room and a ballroom fit to host parties in the mid-18th century.

"Are you sure this is mine now?" Harry asked the first time they stepped foot on the property. "It looks like it should be made into a museum or a high-end restaurant."

"They weren't ones to flaunt their wealth, but the Potters were—and, with you, continue to be—a wealthy family," said Sirius. "You've seen proof of it enough in the family vault, it shouldn't come as such a shock to have a house like this."

"A house," Harry snorted. "This is a mansion. This is the type of place they'd show on the telly when it was Aunt Petunia's turn to choose the channel." The front door opened with a loud screech, dragging up clouds of dust and leaves on its way. "When was the last time anyone was even in here?"

"If I had to guess, no one's been in this house since your many times great-grandfather's passing," Remus coughed when the swish of a curtain dropped dirt on his head. "We have a lot of work to do."

They had slowly but surely turned the old house around. The home improvement project took up most of their time and as they couldn't entertain any visitors until the proper safety precautions had been put in place, they had an added incentive to finish the work quickly.

It took three weeks before they deemed the house fit enough to receive guests and two more days before they actually followed through with the invitations. Those two days gave them time enough to set up some wards on the property and when it came time to perform the most important of them all, Sirius was adamant that he would be Secret Keeper.

The Weasley family were the first to see Adelaide Manor. Mr and Mrs Weasley, Ron and Ginny visited on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. While the latter two awwed and ahhed in all the right places, Mrs Weasley—and to a certain extent (mostly due to loyalty than anything else) Mr Weasley as well—remained tight lipped throughout the tour, letting out only a few hums and brisk nods to show she was listening. The warm and open woman Harry had come to know had retreated into herself and become someone he was sad to say he didn't recognize.

"Have I done something to upset your mother?" Harry asked Ron and Ginny as he was leading them around the enormous backyard.

"What? _Our_ mum?" asked Ron.

"No, the neighbour's," Harry said drily. "She seems a bit different today," he turned back to the house where Sirius, Remus, and Mr and Mrs Weasley were seated around a table drinking pumpkin juice and making extremely polite conversation if Mrs Weasley's squared shoulders and absent smile were anything to go by. "Not her usual self."

"That's just mum for you," said Ginny, the back of her hand lightly brushing against his as they walked. "She does this sometimes when she doesn't know what to think about something, or when she knows it's something she can't voice yet."

"I did do something to upset her then," Harry said worriedly.

"No, nothing like that," Ginny hurried to assure him. "It's just…the stuff with Sirius and him going to Azkaban but then breaking out to find you because it turns out he's not guilty, and now you live with him…" Ginny shrugged. "I don't think she knows what to make of it. Or him."

"If you ask me, she needs some time to get to know him," said Ron. "Mum's very protective of us and she hadn't even met Sirius before today. I think she's worried all those years in Azkaban did something to him and now that you're living with him..."

Harry nodded mutely. He looked back to where the adults were gathered together and observed that Mrs Weasley hadn't moved an inch from her previous position, though Mr Weasley appeared to be having a spirited discussion with Remus and Sirius without an ounce of the tension Mrs Weasley held.

"Give her time," Ginny advised. "She'll come around."

Mrs Weasley did not warm up to Sirius that day, nor the one after that, or even the week following when Hermione made it back from her vacation in Spain and finally got to see Harry's new home. With ten days to go before the end of the summer holidays, Harry was at his wits' end. The relationship between Mrs Weasley and Sirius hadn't gotten any better and the worst part (at least to him) was that neither one of them seemed to be in any hurry to rectify the situation.

"She'll come around when she's ready," Sirius said to him with all the wisdom of a man of Dumbledore's age. This was the fifth time Harry had brought it up. "I've learned a thing or two about women in all my years and though I've been out of the game for the past decade, some things just never change. Now that you have a girlfriend of your own, it would do you well to remember this: Never rush a woman who doesn't want to be rushed. No matter the place, time or circumstances, women are sensible and sometimes mercurial creatures and when they're ready to listen to you, they will, but not a moment sooner. Molly Weasley isn't ready to listen yet. I'll be there when she is." Having said his piece, Sirius snapped open his newspaper and retreated into its monochrome pages. Harry did not bring up the topic again after that, though his godfather's words had done little to assuage his worry.

When his time wasn't taken over by his preoccupation with Sirius and Mrs Weasley it was better spent with Professor Dumbledore. The Professor had returned from his trip visiting his friend (the expert in Occlumency and Legilimency) and had come back bearing the news Harry had expected: lots of suggestions, but not one concrete answer. Dumbledore's friend had never encountered a situation like Harry's before where a bond (no matter how unwanted it was) ran soul deep between two people, inextricably connecting them in ways which had yet to be fully explored. He posited that unless the bond were to be severed, there was no sure-fire way of Harry permanently closing the door on their connection, particularly in sleep when he had little to no control over his own mind's wanderings.

Dumbledore's solution had been to teach Harry how to create a fortress in his mind, a secluded safe where he could store his memories of his Voldemort-induced-nightmares so they wouldn't plague him during his waking hours. With time, those memories would age and fade just like any other, but never disappear entirely.

Professor Dumbledore established a new pattern for his lessons with Harry. He would walk into the room, get comfortable, poke at Harry's mental defences until they turned to dust under his expert care and then show Harry new exercises to strengthen his Occlumency shields. At the end of each session Dumbledore would leave Harry with odd tasks to complete for their next get-together: he should think of his oldest memory, prepare a list of his top 76 favourite meals, memorize a passage from a book and, on a most memorable occasion while they still resided at Grimmauld Place, paint the walls of a forgotten bedroom a faded yellow without using magic. The pungent smell of paint had followed him around that entire week.

"You want me to do what?" demanded Harry.

"I would like it if you could count the leaves on the peach tree at the back of the house," said Dumbledore, entirely too serious in his request for Harry's taste. "Without magic, if you please."

"I do not bloody well please at all," said Harry, too lost in his outrage to remember who he was talking to. "It's almost impossible without magic. It would take me hours just to count half the leaves on the tree and that's if I don't lose track of the ones I've already counted. Why do you want me to do this?"

"I believe it could be of great use some day, particularly if you wish to develop a method to protect your secrets from any Legilimens, not just Voldemort," said Dumbledore.

"Is this a riddle? Or a metaphor. Or some other cryptic way of yours to teach me a lesson?" Harry had been a good sport until that point, he hadn't complained when Professor Dumbledore left him with the odd task or two for the week and wouldn't have bothered to put up a fight right now if it weren't for the absurdity of the task ahead. "Hermione is much better at those than I am, I wouldn't hold out hope for me figuring it out if I were you, Professor."

Dumbledore laughed. "You give yourself too little credit, Harry, and myself, too much. These requests I've been making of you, the exercises I've been giving you, they serve a higher purpose other than keeping you entertained over the weekend. The only reason I forewent an explanation is because you did not ask," he said. "Now, rather than explain, allow me to give you a demonstration."

Professor Dumbledore raised his wand invitingly and Harry bobbed his head in a hesitant nod. Instantly, he sensed a presence lurking on the outskirts of his mind, calmly prowling its edges.

Over the course of the summer Harry had learned that Professor Dumbledore liked to vary his approaches in Legilimency from week to week. Harry never knew what to expect when the Professor set out to enter his mind and that made it all the more difficult for him to protect himself against the coordinated attacks which sometimes weren't even attacks at all, but calculated and sneaky manoeuvres that slithered past Harry's protections without him even realizing.

Professor Dumbledore lingered on the edges of Harry's consciousness for a long time—so long that Harry did not see it coming when the Professor pulled out all his punches and bulldozed a monster sized hole through Harry's mental walls and stomped through his carefully constructed labyrinth, leaving only the dust of destruction in his wake. Harry scrambled. He pulled up every one of his last resort measures but they come up short in the face of the Headmaster's strength. Harry was so caught up in the struggle waging in his mind that he almost did not notice a change outside of it.

The smell was one he'd never be able to forget—chemical, acrid and sweet, not like the candies at Honeydukes, but like burnt caramel. With the smell came an influx of memories, of days spent painting four walls of Grimmauld Place by hand, the brush going up and down, up and down, up and down, then dip, shake and repeat. Up and down, up and down… It was hypnotic in a way. It was all he could think about. It invaded and took over his thoughts like little else had before and Harry suddenly realized the gift he'd been given—the weapon.

He fashioned the memory into a web, hit the repeat button and wrapped the Headmaster in it. He spun it round and round until he himself couldn't tell one instant from the next and as he twisted the last of the web around Dumbledore, he gave him a push and banished him out of his mind.

Harry opened his eyes to broken porcelain, an overturned coffee table and a pot of paint lying sideways on the floor, its contents making a valiant effort to turn the carpet completely blue.

"Professor!"

Harry fell to his knees, hooked his trembling hands under Professor Dumbledore's arms and helped pull him back onto his armchair. The old wizard had his eyes screwed shut like he'd spent too long staring at the sun and he had sweat dripping down his face onto his white beard.

"Professor, what happened? Are you all right? What can I do to help? Should I go look for someone? What do—"

Dumbledore wheezed out a chuckle and waved off Harry's fretful hands. "I must admit, when I said that you underestimate yourself, I wasn't quite ready to be proven right so quickly," he said, bracing his arms against the cushions to push himself upright. "You need not worry, Harry, this is nothing a warm cup of tea and some biscuits cannot fix."

"Professor, you just collapsed onto the floor, I think that's reason enough for anyone to worry."

"Ah, but I had very good reason to do so. When I conjured the pot of paint, I wasn't sure what to expect but you put up an excellent fight, Harry. A much better one than I was expecting and I had high expectations of you to begin with." Dumbledore jabbed his wand at the pieces of porcelain strewn on the ground and watched them assemble themselves back into a flower-patterned tea set.

"I did this to you," Harry breathed out. "I… Professor, I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."

"I don't think for a second that was your intention, but it was a fortunate outcome nonetheless." At Harry's blank look, Dumbledore smiled, shook his head and gestured for him to retake his seat. "My wish was for you to fight my Legilimency attack using the tools I've been providing you over the past several weeks as well as everything you've learned under Ms Hansford's tutelage. Not only did you repel my attack, you also pushed me back into my own mind and could have caused me serious bodily harm had we been anywhere else other than this lovely sitting room."

"You say that like it's a good thing," said Harry uncertainly.

"It's an exceptional thing. Imagine the advantage it would give you in a duel to incapacitate your opponent, even if only momentarily. Those are precious seconds that could potentially end up saving your life." Dumbledore gave Harry a moment to process, then said, "The pot of paint served its purpose and successfully triggered a monotonous, repetitive memory which, as you learned, can be used as a smokescreen during a Legilimency attack to ambush and confuse your attacker."

"So you don't just get a kick out of asking me to do weird, random tasks every now and then," Harry concluded, though he still wasn't certain the Headmaster didn't get a small, mean thrill out of picturing Harry spending hours at home fruitlessly trying to count the leaves on a tree.

Dumbledore smiled and said, "I assure you that if that were the case, I would employ considerably more imaginative effort in thinking up the tasks I give you." Somewhere in Adelaide Manor, a grandfather clock struck the hour and was soon joined in its clanging and ringing by the other clocks in the grand house. "I believe that means our time is up."

Harry escorted Dumbledore to the front door. Before leaving, the man paused in his tracks and turned to face his student.

"We are stuck in limbo," mused Dumbledore, "Voldemort has found a way back to his body—he's likely come back stronger than he ever was before—but as long as he sticks to the shadows and does not betray his hand, the Ministry won't allow his reappearance to become public, even if they do believe it to be true. Which they do not," Dumbledore added, almost as an afterthought, "not yet."

"No one will listen to me," said Harry, "not with the Daily Prophet spreading rumours about me and calling me a chronic liar."

"Yes, neither one of us is on the best of terms with the Ministry at the moment and they certainly don't wish for us to have any semblance of credibility with the public." Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out a feathered bowler hat which he fastened onto his head. "As I said before, we are in limbo—Voldemort is returned but, once again, he has proven to be a formidable opponent. Few other than ourselves believe he's out there; the wizarding world is once again at war, but with no battles to fight, they do not know it yet."

"And the Order?"

Dumbledore straightened the folds of his robes. "What of it?"

Harry narrowed his eyes and bit his lip to keep from saying something he might later come to regret. "Has the Order been doing anything to try to prove that Voldemort is back? To get people to believe us."

"It's not that simple, Harry."

"Then enlighten me," Harry said through clenched teeth. "I see Voldemort nearly every night in my mind. He's out there and he's gathering his forces, recruiting more Death Eaters every day. Sirius and Remus have been to every Order meeting and all they've had to report is a lot of talking and not a lot of doing."

"The hard truth is that there's not much to be done with the situation as it is," Dumbledore confessed heavily. "Voldemort has been keeping quiet and while that is fortunate for the people he would otherwise hurt, it is unfortunate for our own purposes. We cannot know where he is hiding, where his base of operations is, how many Death Eaters he has at his disposal, or even what creatures he's managed to sway to his side without him making an appearance. We are stuck in limbo, Harry. Betwixt and between," Dumbledore finished tiredly. "The best we can do is campaign ourselves, feel out the werewolves, the mermaids, the vampires, the goblins, the giants—all manners of groups that Voldemort might approach."

Harry nodded, absently tapping a finger on the frame of the door. "You'd tell me if I could be of use? There just...there has to be a way to make people believe us, Professor."

"I have no doubt there is and we'll find it in due time," For a second, Dumbledore's eyes shone like aquamarine gems before dimming back to their normal azure. "There are a multitude of things out of my control, but I fear that in these new times, I may find out that even where I am most secure, my position will be called into question by those who seek to undermine me and those who fight alongside me. Do you understand now, Harry?"

Harry didn't, but pinned under the influence of Dumbledore's intense gaze, Harry sealed his lips shut and nodded. He stayed by the door and watched the Professor calmly walk down the cobblestone path to reach the end of Adelaide Manor's wards. The air shimmered around Dumbledore as he stepped out of the house's protections. He turned around to face Harry, raised his hand in salute and disapparated with a twist.

It didn't take Harry long to figure out that while Dumbledore may have promised to cease with his word games, he had certainly been trying to tell him something before he left. Harry just had no clue what that could be.

"Oi! Watch it, you almost bowled me over!" yelled Ron. The second year Ravenclaw in question risked a glance down the wagon to roll his eyes at him, then pulled the door open and slid into the next train. "The little bugger! He didn't even bother looking even a little bit sorry. When you guys do your rounds around the castle, make sure to keep an eye out for that kid, he's up to no good."

"We haven't been Prefects for a day and you're already asking us to abuse our power to torment the second year who accidentally pushed you?" asked Hermione, she was going for a stern expression but she couldn't control the mirth present in her eyes.

"That was no accident," argued Ron, "and if you don't get cracking early on kids like him, who knows what type of things you'll be allowing free reign of Hogwarts."

" _Things?_ They're people, too, Ron," said Hermione.

Ron gave a shrug that was both careless and all-knowing. Hermione rolled her eyes and opened the door to their compartment, allowing Ron and a silent Harry to enter first. They settled in comfortably, Hermione pulled out a book from her purse and Ron took out a rolled up Chudley Cannons magazine from his back pocket. Having brought nothing to entertain himself with, Harry sat back and gazed out the window at the passing buildings, watching as they turned to houses, then interspersed farms, and finally to open fields.

Hermione hummed as she read a particularly titillating scene in her book while Ron flipped to the next page in his magazine and scrunched his eyebrows together in agreement with something he was reading. Harry watched them. His friends—his first real companions—who had no idea of the tendrils of evil living, festering, feeding inside Harry. No idea of the price he would have to pay to rid the world of that same evil that was now slinking through the streets because of him.

The door to the compartment swished open, dragging Harry's attention with it and snagging it on the redhead sliding into the compartment. He had eyes only for her as Ginny let the door shut behind her with a click and exchanged friendly greetings with Hermione and spared Ron a sisterly pinch of his cheek, to which he glared at her and lifted the magazine to cover his face.

Something was rolling in his chest—stretching, yawning, preening, sharpening and coming alive with every step she took to get to him. Ginny sank down next to Harry, her side plastered to his as she lifted her feet from the ground and draped her legs across his lap. He welcomed the warmth, the weight of her, and placed a hand on her knee to pull her closer still.

Her eyes were twin chocolate moons in a sky of coral freckles for stars and he got a glimpse of them up close, of the face he'd yearned to touch for the past three weeks where sparse letters and drawn out mirror conversations hadn't been nearly enough to soothe the unexplainable hole he'd harboured inside him.

Her lips were dry but velvet soft as they met his, brushing softly, pulling and moulding together until he thought that if they stayed like this long enough, he might not be able to tell where he ended and she began.

Ginny shifted, one of her legs twitched atop his and their whisper soft kiss turned into something else which was firmer and stronger, a tentative inquiry instead of a kiss hello. There was a sigh, hot air that Harry swallowed as his own before he ventured a bit further by stroking her bottom lip with his tongue.

Ron coughed obnoxiously loud and Harry remembered where they were. He was slow to pull back, but Ginny didn't seem to mind as she stole one last peck before leaning against the seat cushions, back turned to the brother who was studiously pretending to read. Ginny looped an arm around Harry's neck and said, "Hello to you, too, Mr Potter."

Harry grinned wider than he could ever remember doing it and replied, "Always a pleasure, Ms Weasley."

"Anything life-altering happen since we last saw each other?" asked Ginny.

From the corner next to the door, Ron mumbled, "You talk to each other almost every day for Merlin's sake, if something happened, you'd already know," and was swiftly ignored.

"Nothing to report," Harry sighed, pretending he didn't feel the punch to his gut as the word _Horcrux Horcrux Horcrux_ ran through his head in a flashing banner. "You?"

"Same as always. We thought we'd see Charlie this summer since he said he could come visit this year, but something came up and he couldn't make it. Mum was crushed and cooked up a storm the day she received his Floo Call. Bill's been working for Gringotts though, so he's in and out of the house a lot more than before but still not as much as mum would like I think." Ginny paused for a moment, then said, "It's strange, I don't think I've ever seen him work this hard before. He's always loved his job a lot, but now it's like he spends as much time as he can at Gringotts and I don't think he's been doing much curse breaking either, just paperwork and inspections… In any case, it's been nice having him around again."

"What about Percy?"

A cloud fell over Ginny and dusted her in shadow. That was the only way Harry could describe the sudden tightness to her mouth, the stiff set of her shoulders and the quick glance she stole behind her back to Ron, whose white knuckled grip on his magazine threatened to tear the paper in two. On the opposite bench, Hermione took notice of the change in the air and subtly lowered her book but made no other move.

"Percy's been…"

"A bloody asshole," spat Ron.

"I was going to say an arrogant prick but I suppose that works, too," Ginny said darkly. "He moved out of the Burrow a few days after Sirius' trial. He got into a huge fight with mum and dad—especially dad. The next day, he got up early in the morning and was gone before we even sat down to breakfast. He hasn't spoken to mum and dad since. Or any of us."

"Do you know what they argued about?" asked Harry.

Ginny and Ron exchanged looks and Harry felt a boulder drop into his stomach as he connected the dots. Percy's job at the Ministry, the timing of the fight so soon after Sirius' trial, Harry's testimony, the Minister's stance on Voldemort…

Harry's throat was sand dry as he said, "I see. He doesn't believe me about Voldemort. And your parents do."

"It isn't your fault," Ginny jumped in, spotting the beginnings of the dangerous Harry Potter Guilt Spiral.

"It really isn't, Harry," added Ron. "Percy has always been like this. When he gets it into his head that he's right there's no power in the universe strong enough to convince him he's wrong and now that he's working for the Minister himself…" Ron shook his head. "Clearly there's nothing in the world he wouldn't risk to keep that position."

His words were cold and mean and Harry had no doubt those were the two things his girlfriend and best friend had been relying on for the past months to get through their brother's betrayal. The hand wrapped around Ginny's knee pulled her closer to him and he pressed a consoling kiss to the frown lines etched on her forehead, lingering with his lips on her skin when she leaned into his touch.

Hermione chose that moment to chime in with a completely different topic and engaged Ron's attention for the rest of the trip, eventually getting Harry and Ginny to join in as well. The case of Percy Weasley wasn't brought up again.

An hour into their journey, Hermione and Harry left the two Weasleys in favour of attending their first Prefects meeting some carriages away. To Harry, it was dull and repetitive, the seventh year Head Boy and Head Girl seemed more concerned with establishing their superiority over their Prefect subjects than explaining the duties required of them. They were sitting in a larger compartment with room for a large table and enough chairs to sit all the Prefects while the Head Boy and Head Girl stood at one end, a blackboard full of scribbles at their backs.

Hermione listened attentively, though her lips twitched into a minute frown every now and then when one of the Head Prefects said something she disagreed with. On the pair's third strike, Hermione pulled out a little notebook and pencil from her back pocket and began scribbling furiously. Clearly it was something none of the other first time Prefects had ever done before for the Head Boy and Head Girl exchanged nervous glances and spent the next twenty minutes choking on their words and stumbling through their instructions at every scratch of lead on paper.

Other than taking them down a peg or two, Hermione's antics also had the advantage of distracting the other Prefects from staring at Harry. They were all facing the head of the table, ostensibly listening to what the Heads had to say, but their eyes would shift to Harry every once in a while, like magnets reaching for the poles, and some of them would keep at it for a while, tracing phantom lines down his face as though he were nothing more than a photograph plastered on the front page of the newspaper. It was the same way they'd looked at him in the past years; after the Stone, after the Chamber, after the Tournament—only worse.

They divided themselves into House pairs after that and patrolled the halls. For what? Harry wasn't entirely sure and other than a particularly loud group of third year boys, their one hour of patrol went by listlessly and uneventfully. They returned to their compartment to find Ginny and Ron in the midst of a game of chess.

With minutes to spare before their arrival, Harry and Ron left the compartment and waited by the door as Ginny and Hermione changed into their Hogwarts robes, then the four of them changed positions so the boys could get changed.

A sharp, keening whistle announced their arrival; it was soon drowned out by the dull screech of the wheels scratching against the tracks as the train slowed down to come to a stop at the station. The doors swished open on running plumes of smoke so the students who rushed out of the train first appeared to be walking on clouds. There was the usual rushed confusion as the first years took their time to stare around in wonder, only to be jostled and pushed by everyone else dashing to get to the horseless carriages.

As Harry and his friends harboured no secret wish to be carried off and trampled by a herd of over-excited children, they waited patiently in their carriage until the majority of the students had left and then went in search of their own means of transport.

It was as Harry rounded the last of the carriages and finally got a good look at the shafts which usually hovered in the air, pulling the carriages with what he'd thought to be nothing but magic, that he stumbled over his feet.

Large animals the size of horses with the wings of bats and the beaked face of falcons were calmly roped in pairs in front of every carriage. Their bodies were hairless and grey, their skeletal limbs covered in the same stretched-out skin that made up their wings. Harry stared as a hoofed foot struck the earth and left an open patch of fresh dirt on the grass.

"What are they?" he breathed out, not daring to take his eyes off the beasts.

Ginny, one foot already on the step to the carriage, heard him over the din of chattering students. "What are what?"

"Them. Those things—the beasts." Harry felt her come up next to him and place a hand on his arm, head angling to peer at the creatures.

Her hand tightened on his arm, pinching his skin. "I don't see anything."

"They're right there," Harry insisted. "I'm not crazy, I can see them."

"I see them too, you know. I haven't always been able to see them I think, though I can't be absolutely certain I wasn't always meant to." Luna's dreamy voice broke in, the girl suddenly appearing from behind the two creatures tethered to Harry's carriage. She ran a pale hand over one of the beast's faces and it closed its eyes at the caress, butting the palm of her hand with its massive head when she paused. "I would say you're no crazier than I am." A glint entered her eyes, one Harry wasn't sure he was meant to notice but that he'd seen plenty of times dusting the Headmaster's eyes.

Luna was teasing him. Testing him, too.

"Why haven't you ever said anything before?" Ginny looked at Luna intently, the hurt naked on her face. "I would've understood if you'd explained—"

"It wasn't a matter of trust, Ginevra," Luna's eyes, as she locked them with Ginny's own, were perfectly clear. "You'll see them one day, I think, but Thestrals… They're wonderfully lonely creatures. If you ask any of the adults at Hogwarts, I'm sure they'll all be able to see them, too. But only a handful of us, the younger generation, are able to."

"But why?"

"Haven't you figured it out by now, Harry Potter? You've stared Death in the eyes." One of the streetlamps lining the rocky path illuminated Luna's face, her eyes glowed with a knowing, silver sheen. "And it looked back."

Harry was silent on the ride to the castle. Everyone noticed, but at a glance from Ginny, no one said a word. Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry had been joined in their carriage by an equally quiet Luna, but her silence was the calm sister to Harry's own broiling stillness. Neither Ron nor Hermione had been brought up to speed on what happened before they'd mounted the carriage, though from the heaviness lingering in the enclosed space, they knew something was wrong.

Their carriage (led by Thestrals, as Harry had found out) reached the gates to Hogwarts and all five of them got out wordlessly. They were walking up the sloping grass hills to the castle when a shrill, human whistle rose up to meet them. They turned as one and were met with four Hufflepuff boys trotting up to meet them.

"Potter," the tallest of the brood drawled, hazel eyes zeroing in on Harry. "I was hoping we'd catch up with you. Have a chance to talk."

"Do I know you?" asked Harry.

"No, but we know you," the boy said. "We also knew Cedric. Diggory, in case you'd forgotten." Harry felt the rug being pulled out from under him, felt his feet dangle in the air helplessly as he heard the name he'd only been able to say in desperate screams during the night.

"I know who Cedric is," Harry managed to choke out, barely registering the warm hand suddenly gripping his numb fingers like a vice.

"We thought you might. You see, we've been following the news, my friends and I," the hazel eyed boy gestured to the three Hufflepuffs surrounding him, all with varying degrees of disdain on their faces as they looked at Harry. "And we weren't too happy with what we found. The Dark Lord rising again? Really? Is that the best you could up with or was that something you and your Death Eater godfather cooked up while he was on the run?"

The breath whooshed out of Harry like he'd been hit in the gut with a sledgehammer. His eyes lost their focus for a second, the four Hufflepuffs becoming nothing but big splashes of black in a canvas of greens and greys.

Ron was saying something, something cruel and pointed by the blazing look in his eyes, but Harry couldn't hear anything over the roar in his ears, his head.

"What do you want?" His voice was thin and distant, as if coming not from him, but from someone else a hundred yards away. From another world. Maybe even another time.

The Hufflepuff boy's face froze and sharpened. "We want to know what you did to Cedric. Why you're lying about his death. What aren't you telling us? What doesn't the great Harry Potter want the world to know about?" The disgust swirling in the boy's eyes ran so deep, Harry thought he could easily drown in it. "Why are you lying?"

He might have said something else, Harry didn't know. He couldn't hear him because he wasn't at Hogwarts anymore. He was in the graveyard. Little Hangleton. And there was Cedric.

" _Maybe it's faulty… I'll take a look."_

 _Harry watched as Cedric approached the Cup, watched him turn around at the sound of rustling leaves and meet Harry down on his knees, clutching at his head like he could dig his nails in deep enough and cut out the tendrils of magic infusing his every thought with agony._

 _The Killing Curse surged from Pettigrew's wand and, for a second, wrapped Cedric in a halo of green light. He was a specimen caught in emerald instead of amber. If Harry could preserve him like this for all eternity, maybe he would._

 _Cedric dropped and Harry heard the crunch as his body hit the ground with no hands to reach out to brace against the fall, no conscious thought to register his descent. The crack his head made when it bounced off the ground._

 _He hadn't noticed these things in the graveyard at the time—the sounds of death. But they'd come back to him at night, in his nightmares. The stores of his mind had been blown wide open to torment Harry with every last detail he had missed and now, it was every detail he could not escape from._

 _Cedric's eyes were still open. Harry knew this was the part where he was screaming, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Cedric. What were his last thoughts? Was he regretting grabbing the Cup with Harry? Was he cursing his name, wishing he'd been killed with his parents? Wishing his name had never come out of the Goblet, like Harry did?_

 _Or was he wishing his death would give Harry time? Time to escape, to get help. To save himself, at least._

 _It was this thought that broke him._

"What do you look to gain by doing this? Asking these questions. If you'd really cared about Cedric then you wouldn't be disgracing his memory like this." Ginny's voice. She was seething. "Leave us alone. Leave Harry alone, or else."

"Or else what?" Another Hufflepuff boy, this one dark skinned and blue eyed. "What's a pretty bird like you going to do to us? Run your mouth until we can't bear to hear the sound of your voice." His voice dropped, taking on a suggestive tone. "I can think of better uses for that mouth of yours."

Harry saw red. His wand was out and marking the tip of the boy's nose.

Hermione clutched Ron's sleeve as he made a move to pull out his own wand but wasn't fast enough to stop Ginny from taking out hers, though she left it hanging at her side.

"Never," Harry ground out, "talk to her like that ever again. You won't like what I'll do to you if you do."

The Hufflepuff at the end of Harry's wand didn't say anything, but out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw his friends shifting to reach into their own pockets.

"Hem-hem."

Both groups tensed at the sound of that voice, but only Harry did it out of recognition and not surprise. His wand dropped as he turned around to face Dolores Umbridge.

She was standing feet away wearing a lavender, knee length dress overlaid with a mauve blazer, a purse the size of a small dog hung from her arm, the same colour as her dress, and a hat spangled with orchids rested on her head.

"What, exactly, is it that you'll do, Mr Potter?" Umbridge's dulcet words flew out of her mouth like poison darts. "I'm really quite curious to find out. After all, not many educators can say that on their first day on the job they had to break apart a violent altercation between students. One of them, The Boy Who Lived, no less."

Anger bubbled up inside Harry but amidst its scarlet fumes, one word burned brighter than the rest. "Educator?"

Umbridge's lips pulled at the corners in an approximation of a smile, but Harry thought she was making a very good impersonation of what a shark must look like before it struck.

"Minister Fudge was...concerned about the topics being taught to the students at this school. Our future leaders. I offered my services in the name of the Ministry of Magic to help improve the effectiveness of this school, return its Professors to the tried and true methods of teaching, and guide its students down the path of responsibility, honesty and civic duty." Like a cat, Umbridge tilted her head to the side and smiled sweetly.

Hermione had relaxed at Umbridge's first appearance but the longer she spoke, the further she drifted from Ron until she stood neck and neck with Harry facing Umbridge. "But Hogwarts is a private institution. The Ministry cannot—"

"The Ministry," Umbridge interrupted, looking for all intents and purposes as though she was swatting away a bothersome fly, "is doing everything it can to ensure the safety of its citizens. The best way to do that is to instil a healthy dose of discipline and respect into those responsible for carrying our country forward. What better place to do that than Hogwarts?" She turned to Harry. "That being said, we wouldn't be setting a good example this year if we started off on the wrong foot now, would we? A warning this time, Mr Potter. You only get one of those."

Umbridge twirled on her heel and strutted off to the castle. Harry kept his eyes on her until she'd passed the double doors and was firmly out of sight, only then did he notice that his friends had been curiously mute and as he looked back, he noted the Hufflepuffs were gone.

Ginny broke the silence. "Is that who I think it was?"

"Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Or at least, that's what she was last time I saw her."

"She's the one you told us about after they questioned you and Viktor," said Hermione, missing the sharp glance Ron shot her at the other boy's name. "The woman you said had something against you."

"I don't think he was far off on that front. She seemed ecstatic to find you pointing a wand at that Hufflepuff prick, even if he more than deserved it," Ron said darkly.

"Of course, she would be, she works for the Ministry and there's no one who's spoken out more against them than Harry," said Hermione, shaking her as she started the trek up to the castle.

"I haven't spoken against them," argued Harry. "I told them the truth and they wouldn't believe me. Dumbledore did as well."

"And why do you think they sent her here?" Hermione retorted. "It's no secret Dumbledore's your biggest advocate and with him being the most powerful wizard of the age _and_ the Headmaster of Hogwarts..."

"What," scoffed Ron, "you think she was sent here as some sort of spy?"

"A long time ago, humans believed that whenever their children grew sickly and weak as babies, it was because they had been changed after birth and were actually faerie offspring—changelings," said Luna, either ignoring or not heeding to the looks shot her way. "They'd leave the changeling out in the woods at night in the hopes that the faerie would return their real child and take their own faerie baby away. Of course," she intoned somberly, "human babies are unlikely to survive a night out in the woods alone, especially during the winter, so when the parents would come back for their child the next day and find its corpse, they'd just assume the faeries hadn't shown up. But when they encountered a perfectly healthy baby they thought it was their own, restored to them at last. They didn't pause to consider that the baby they now held in their arms was actually a faerie, planted there by its parents in the place of the sickly human baby that had been left out in the cold. They didn't know that they now housed the very creature they'd been trying to get rid of. That they were being watched, assessed, and measured up by something _other_."

Harry shivered. From the expressions on Hermione, Ron and Ginny's faces, they were experiencing something similar.

"I don't know," Luna continued, "maybe there's something to take away from these myths after all. They might not even be just myths."


End file.
